m 


CASE 
B 


THE  CONTRAST 


THE 

CONTRAST 


A  COMEDY 
In  Five 


R  O  Y  A  L  L     T  Y  L  E  R 


With  a  History  of  George  Washington's  Copy  by 
JAMES  BENJAMIN  WILBUR 


*    •>•>»»• 


BOSTON    &    NEW    YORK 

HOUGHTON    MIFFLIN   COMPANY 

MDCCCCXX 


COPYRIGHT,   1920,  BY  JAMES  B.  WILBUR 
ALL  RIGHTS   RESERVED 


T?  Cb 


PREFACE 

IN  reproducing  in  a  separate  volume  a  play  of 
the  eighteenth,  in  this  the  twentieth  century, 
the  writer  feels  certain  of  interesting  all  students 
of  early  American  drama  and  literature,  and  es 
pecially  so,  since  it  has  been  possible  to  present 
for  the  first  time,  in  the  Introduction  by  the 
granddaughter  of  Royall  Tyler,  new  and  inter 
esting  information  about  the  author,  the  play, 
and  the  times  in  which  it  was  written. 

Montrose  J.  Moses,  in  his  "Representative 
Plays,"  says:  "Whether  the  intrinsic  merits  of 
the  play  would  contribute  to  the  amusement  of 
audiences  to-day  is  to  be  doubted,  although  it  is 
a  striking  dramatic  curio.  The  play  in  the  read 
ing  is  scarcely  exciting.  It  is  surprisingly  devoid 
of  situation.  Its  chief  characteristic  is  *  talk/  but 
that  talk,  reflective  in  its  spirit  of  *  The  School 
for  Scandal/  is  interesting  to  the  social  student." 

In  those  days  the  reading  of  the  play,  if  we 
can  judge  by  the  newspapers  of  the  time,  proved 
highly  interesting  to  a  large  audience  in  Phila 
delphia,  where  Wignell  was  unable  to  give  the 
play  on  the  stage  owing  to  a  disagreement  with 


vi  PREFACE 

the  principal  actors,  though  we  can  hardly  im 
agine  many  to-day  paying  for  the  privilege  of 
hearing  a  play  read,  especially  one  with  very  lit 
tle  plot,  and  little  if  any  dramatic  denouement. 

As  "The  School  for  Scandal"  was  in  some 
sense  a  product  of  its  time,  so  "  The  Contrast/'  if 
read  discerningly,  throws  a  very  interesting  side 
light  on  the  taste  and  manners  of  American  soci 
ety  in  1787,  long  before  modern  plays  with  their 
quick  action  and  dialogue  and  their  artistic  scen 
ery,  to  say  nothing  of  the  breath-taking  real 
ism  of  the  moving-pictures,  had  worked  their 
changes  in  the  American  theatre.  There  is  no 
doubt  it  was  a  successful  play  at  the  time.  It  is 
difficult  to  visualize  New  York  with  a  popula 
tion  of  about  thirty  thousand  people,  yet  it  was 
then,  as  it  ever  has  been,  the  first  city  of  the  North 
American  continent,  and  to  fill  its  principal 
theatre  with  the  best  people  of  the  city  more 
than  once  was  a  strong  endorsement  for  any  pro 
duction. 

It  is  said  that  men  of  action  have  always  been 
fond  of  the  theatre  ;  we  know  that  Washington 
was,  as  was  Lincoln.  And  now  we  approach  the 
second  reason  for  the  present  reprint  of  Royall 
Tyler's  play  "The  Contrast."  George  Wash 
ington,  the  President  of  the  United  States,  was 


[^Facsimile,  slightly  reduced^ 


THE 


CONTRAST, 

A 

COMEDY; 

IN    FIVE    ACTS: 
WRITTEN   BY  A 

CITIZEN  or  THE  U NITED  STATES; 

Performed  with  Applaufe  at  the  Theatres  in  NEW- YORK. 
PHILADELPHIA,  and  MARYLAND; 

AND  PUBLISHED  (under  an  Alignment  of  the  Ct,fy.  Right )  B  v 

THOMAS     WIGNELL. 


Primus  ego  in  patriam 
Aonio— — deduxi  vert  ice  Mufas. 

VlRClt. 

( Imitated.) 

Firft  on  our  ftiores  I  try  THALIA'S  powers, 
And  bid  the  laughing,  ufeful  Maid  be  ours. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

rat  r**s*  OF  PRICHARD  &  HALL,  IN  MARKLI 

BiTWF.EN     SECOND    AKD     KRONT    STKECTS. 
M.  DSC.  X(. 


PREFACE 


vn 


among  the  first  subscribers  for  the  published 
play,  of  which  he  received  two  copies.  He  wrote 
his  name  in  one  and  placed  it  in  his  library.1 

Pursuing  the  further  fortunes  of  this  copy  of 
"  The  Contrast,"  I  begin  by  quoting  from  L.  E. 
Chittenden's  "  Personal  Reminiscences,  1 840— 
1890." 

"  Many  years  ago,"  says  Mr.  Chittenden,  "I 
began  to  collect  books  relating  to  Vermont 
printed  before  1850.  .  .  .  Omitting  the  pursuit 
of  the  numerous  pamphlets  touching  the  con 
troversy  between  New  York  and  Vermont,  re 
lating  to  the  New  Hampshire  grants,  which  are 
now  worth  more  than  their  weight  in  silver,  as 
shown  by  the  prices  paid  for  them  at  the  Brin- 
ley  sale,  I  will  come  at  once  to  a  legend  which 
has  ripened  into  a  fact,  in  the  history  of  the 
American  theatre.  The  legend  was  that  the  first 
play  written  by  an  American  author  ever  rep 
resented  upon  the  American  stage  was  written 
by  a  Vermonter,  named  Royal  Tyler.  He  was 
known  to  have  been  a  lawyer,  a  justice  of  the 
Vermont  Supreme  Court,  a  celebrated  wit,  a 
well-known  contributor  to  the  '  Farmer's  Mu 
seum/  published  at  Walpole,  New  Hampshire, 
by  Isaiah  Thomas.  Tyler  had  made  an  acciden- 

1  See  Note  on  page  xviii. 


viii  PREFACE 

tal  visit  to  New  York  City,  where  he  had  formed 
the  acquaintance  of  Thomas  Wignell,  a  leading 
comedian,  who  wished  to  introduce  to  the  stage 
the  character  of  Brother  Jonathan.  Judge  Tyler 
had  accordingly  written  the  comedy  of  *  The 
Contrast,'  in  which  Brother  Jonathan  was  a 
principal  character.  It  had  been  performed  with 
great  eclat  in  New  York,  Philadelphia,  Balti 
more,  and  Washington  to  crowded  houses.  It 
was  a  part  of  the  legend  that  the  play,  under  the 
name  of '  The  Contrast/  had  been  printed  and 
published  in  New  York  City  about  the  year 
1790. 

"A  play  with  such  a  history,  written  by  a 
Vermonter,  would  be  a  veritable  nugget  in  the 
literature  of  the  Green  Mountain  State.  The 
title  stood  at  the  head  of  my  list  of '  wants '  for 
almost  twice  fifteen  years.  But  the  chase  for  it 
was  never  hopeful.  No  copy  of  it  was  ever  dis 
covered,  nor  any  evidence,  except  the  legend 
that  it  had  been  printed.  If  it  had  ever  been  pub 
lished,  it  must  have  been  in  a  pamphlet  form. 
Pamphlets  are  invariably  short  lived.  The  re 
spect  which  insures  preservation  cannot  be  se 
cured  without  covers.  Put  covers  upon  any  pam 
phlet  and  it  becomes  a  book,  to  be  protected 
against  the  waste  basket  and  the  rag  bag ;  it  se- 


PREFACE  ix 

cures  the  respect  of  the  house  wife  and  the  serv 
ant,  those  peripatetic  and  most  dangerous  ene 
mies  of  the  treasures  of  the  book  collector. 

"In  the  chase  for  'The  Contrast/  I  had  em 
ployed  all  the  recognized  means  of  getting  upon 
the  track  of  a  rare  book.  I  had  patiently  exam 
ined  all  the  auction  and  sale  catalogues  for  years. 
I  had  standing  orders  for  '  The  Contrast '  with 
all  the  booksellers.  I  had  handled  many,  possi 
bly  hundreds  of  cords  of  the  trash  in  Gowan's 
and  other  second-hand  dealers,  and  the  result 
had  been  nil.  Not  only  had  no  copy  of  the  play 
been  discovered,  but  I  had  not  found  a  particle 
of  evidence  that  it  had  ever  been  printed. 

"The  play  could  scarcely  be  a  century  old. 
If  printed,  its  date  could  not  have  been  earlier 
than  1790.  Surely  a  book  of  a  date  so  recent 
could  not  have  wholly  ceased  to  exist.  I  was  fi 
nally  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  the  legend 
was  erroneous,  that  'The  Contrast'  had  never 
been  printed. 

"This  decision  of  mine  was  published  in  some 
newspapers  and  came  to  the  knowledge  of  a  lin 
eal  descendant  of  Judge  Tyler,  a  reputable  citi 
zen  of  Boston.  To  convince  me  of  my  error,  he 
sent  me  one  printed  leaf  of  the  play,  comprising 
pages  45  and  46.  At  the  top  of  each  page  was 


x  PREFACE 

the  title  'The  Contrast/  In  the  dialogue  were 
the  characters  *  Brother  Jonathan  '  and  *  Jenny ' 
and  the  former  sang  the  song  *  Yankee  Doodle/ 
These  pages  settled  the  fact  that  the  play  had 
been  printed.  The  printing  was  proved;  the  dis 
appearance  of  the  last  printed  copy  I  was  com 
pelled  to  regard  as  impossible  to  be  accounted 
for  by  the  rules  which  commonly  determine  the 
life  of  a  book. 

"The  wheels  of  time  rolled  on  to  the  year 
1876.  I  had  given  up  all  hope  of  *  The  Contrast ' ; 
the  mystery  continued  unexplained  and  grew 
darker  with  age.  One  day  I  received  a  catalogue 
entitled '  Washingtoniana.  Books,  rare  plans  and 
maps,  a  part  of  the  library  of  General  George 
Washington.  Many  of  the  books  contain  his 
autograph.  To  be  sold  in  Philadelphia  on  Tues 
day  afternoon,  November  26th,  1876,  by 
Thomas  and  Sons,  auctioneers/  No.  35  of  this 
catalogue  contained  this  title,  'The  Contrast,  a 
comedy  in  5  acts.  Frontispiece.  8vo.  Morocco. 
Philadelphia,  1790.  Has  autograph/ 

"  Was  this  the <  Contrast '  which  I  had  hunted 
so  long,  or  some  other?  It  was  printed  in  Phila 
delphia,  the  genuine  was  supposed  to  have  been 
printed  in  New  York.  Yet  the  date  1790  was 
about  correct.  But  why  was  it  in  the  library  of 


PREFACE  xi 

General  George  Washington  ?  This  was  a  very 
suspicious  circumstance,  after  the  forgery  of  his 
motto  '  Exitus  acta  probat,'  and  his  book  plate, 
which  was  imposed  upon  so  many  collectors. 
But  it  was  unsafe  to  attract  attention  to  the  title 
by  correspondence.  Slight  as  the  chance  was,  I 
determined  not  to  lose  it.  I  employed  a  well- 
known  bookseller  and  bibliophile  of  New  York 
City  to  attend  the  sale,  and  if  this  was  the  gen 
uine  *  Contrast'  to  buy  it  without  limit  of  price. 
I  was  very  confident  that,  after  so  long  a  chase, 
the  genuine  comedy  was  worth  as  much  to  me 
as  to  any  other  collector.1  .  .  . 

1  "  Yesterday  afternoon  at  the  Thomas  auction  rooms  the  last  vol 
umes  of  the  Library  of  General  George  Washington  were  scattered  to 
the  winds  by  the  last  heir  of  the  family,  Lawrence  Washington.  This 
young  man,  who  was  present  at  the  sale,  is  a  great-grandson  of  General 
Washington's  brother  and  a  son  of  the  late  Jno.  A.  Washington.  Mr. 
Washington  is  a  dark-complexioned  young  man,  of  medium  height 
and  size,  who  only  recently  came  into  possession  of  the  property.  Be 
fore  the  sale  began  Mr.  Jennings  of  the  firm  of  Thomas  &  Sons  ex 
plained  the  reason  for  it.  The  books  were  stored  in  a  room  of  a  house 
belonging  to  the  family,  which  was  rented  to  a  Pennsylvanian,  who 
promised  that  it  should  be  kept  constantly  locked.  When  Mr.  Wash 
ington  examined  the  library,  he  found  that  the  promise  had  not  been 
kept;  that  volumes  had  disappeared,  the  autographs  had  been  clipped 
from  others,  and  that  there  was  danger  that  the  whole  collection  would 
be  scattered  in  a  few  years.  There  was  no  doubt  whatever  of  the 
authenticity  of  the  volumes  at  this  time.  The  sale  then  proceeded, 
there  being  a  large  number  of  literary  men,  librarians,  booksellers,  and 
private  collectors  present. 

"In  the  Washington  Collection  there  were  138  lots  and  in  all 
about  250  volumes.  The  total  amount  realized  was  $1933.00,  with 
which  price  the  auctioneer  expressed  himself  entirely  satisfied,  saying 


xii  PREFACE 

"My  order  proved  a  success.  It  secured  the 
genuine  *  Contrast/  which  was  purchased  for  a 
few  dollars,  and  my  agent  returned  with  it  in 
his  possession.  Its  inspection  showed  that  it 
formed  no  exception  to  the  rule  that  every  pub 
lished  book  appears  in  commerce  once  in  1 5 
years ;  for  this  play  had  never  been  published. 
It  was  printed  for  a  list  of  subscribers,  which 
appeared  with  the  comedy.  'The  President  of 
the  United  States'  was  the  first  subscriber.  This 
copy  had  been  bound  in  red  and  green  morocco, 
tooled  and  ornamented  in  the  highest  style  of 
the  bibliopegistic  art  of  the  time,  for  General 
Washington,  who  then  filled  the  exalted  posi 
tion  of  Chief  Magistrate  of  the  Republic.  The 
title  page  was  adorned  by  his  well-known  auto 
graph.  The  volume  now  lies  before  me,  perfect 
in  every  particular :  with  a  frontispiece  engraved 
by  Maverick,  one  of  our  earliest  engravers  on 
metal,  from  a  painting  by  Dunlap,  containing 
the  portraits  ad  vivum  of  Wignell  as  Brother 
Jonathan,  Mrs.  Morris  as  Charlotte,  and  three 
of  the  other  principal  characters  in  the  play  as 

it  was  more  than  he  had  expected  to  receive.  Few  of  the  books  had 
any  value  except  that  which  had  been  conferred  upon  them  by  their 
distinguished  ownership.  Many  were  public  documents  of  which  there 
are  numerous  copies  in  existence  and  none  of  them  were  rare." 

From  the  Philadelphia  "Times,"  November  29,  1876. 


PREFACE  xiii 

represented.  It  would  be  difficult  to  imagine  a 
volume  possessing  more  elements  of  attraction 
to  a  collector  than  the  first  play  written  by  an 
American,  which  created  the  stage  character  of 
Brother  Jonathan, was  once  owned  by  the  Father 
of  his  Country,  who  had  written  his  own  name 
upon  the  title,  and  which  was  withal  of  such 
excessive  rarity. 

"One  would  suppose  that  a  volume  which 
had  so  long  evaded  the  most  exhaustive  and 
comprehensive  search  would  be  properly  called 
unique.  And  yet  it  was  not.  Collectors  know 
that  it  is  a  rule  to  which  exceptions  seldom  oc 
cur,  that  the  discovery  of  one  very  rare  volume 
is  followed  by  the  discovery  of  its  duplicate.  I 
was  not  therefore  much  surprised  when,  a  few 
weeks  after  this  volume  came  into  my  hands  I 
was  informed  by  that  careful  and  intelligent  col 
lector  of  portraits  of  actors  and  other  material 
connected  with  the  stage,  Mr.  Thomas  J. 
McKee,  that  he,  too,  had  just  secured  a  copy  of 
"The  Contrast/'  at  the  end  of  a  search  which 
for  length  and  thoroughness  almost  rivalled  my 
own.  He  had  secured  it  by  the  merest  acci 
dent.  A  catalogue  to  him  from  some  small  Eng 
lish  city,  Bristol,  I  believe,  contained  its  title 
priced  at  a  few  shillings.  He  ordered  it,  and  in 


xiv  PREFACE 

due  course  of  mail  received  a  copy  of  this  rare  and 
long  hunted  play.  From  his  copy  *  The  Con 
trast  '  has  recently  been  reprinted.  That  copy 
and  the  one  above  described  are  the  only  copies 
so  far  known  of  the  original  edition/' 

Forty-four  years  after  the  sale  just  described 
I  purchased  a  priced  copy  of  the  catalogue,  a 
facsimile  of  the  fifth  page  of  which  is  here  re 
produced. 

From  Mr.  Chittenden  this  copy  of  "The  Con 
trast"  passed  into  the  hands  of  Mr.  Samuel  P. 
A  very,  who  had  been  on  the  hunt  for  the  book  for 
years.  Unfortunately  neither  of  the  parties  to  the 
transfer  left  any  record  of  ho  w  it  came  about.  We 
may  assume,  however,  that  only  a  very  liberal 
offer  could  have  persuaded  Mr.  Chittenden  to 
part  with  the  cherished  volume,  though  it  is 
possible  that  it  may  have  come  to  Mr.  Avery 
indirectly. 

In  an  endeavor  to  trace  the  history  of  the  copy 
at  this  point,  I  applied  to  the  librarian  of  the 
University  of  Vermont,  to  which  Mr.  Chitten 
den  had  given  his  collection  of  books  and  pam 
phlets  relating  to  Vermont,  which  included 
many  rare  items,  but  could  learn  nothing  from 
that  source,  the  librarian  having  no  information 
as  to  this  copy  of  "  The  Contrast/' 


[^Facsimile  of  priced  catalogue  page,  1876^ 
5 

31  POLITICAL  PAMPHLETS,  containing — Dissertation    /  J. 

on  the  Political  Union  of  the  Thirteen  United 
States,  Phila.,  1783;  Sketches  of  American 
Policy,  by  Noah  Webster,  Hartford,  1785; 
Observations  on  the  American  Revolution, 
Phila.,  1789;  Rights  of  Man,  by  Tom  Paine, 
Phila.,  1791,  and  several  other  pamphlets,  2 
vols.  8vo,  calf. 

jgi^Each  volume  has  Autograph. 

32  BORDLEY.   J.    B.  —  On    Husbandry  and   Rural    <P. 

Affairs,  8vo,  calf.  Phila ,  1 799 

OCT"  Has  Autograph. 

33  BUFFON'S  Natural  History,  abridged,  numerous  J~   (T~O 

illustrations,  2  vols.  8vo,  calf.     London,  1792 

S®*  Each  volume  has  Autograph. 

34  BELKNAP.  JEREMY — History  of  New-Hampshire,  //. 

with  Map,  3  vols.  8vo,  sheep.       Phila.,  1 784 

JBgg0"  Each  volume  has  Autograph. 

35  Contrast.  The — A  Comedy  in  Five  Acts,  frontis- 

piece,  8vo,  morocco.  Phila.,  1 790 

jgg^Has  Autograph. 

36  MOORE.  JOHN — View  of  Society  and  Manners  in    (^ 

Italy,  2  vols.  8vo,  sheep.  London,  1783 

figi*  Each  volume  has  Autograph  and  Coat-of- Arms. 

37  MOORE.  JOHN — View  of  Society  and  Manners  in   cP 

France,  Switzerland  and  Germany,  2  vols. 
8vo,  sheep.  London,  1 783 

O3  Each  volume  has  Autograph  and  Coat-of-Arms. 

38  SWIFT.  ZEPHANIAH — System  of  the  Laws  of  the 

State  of  Connecticut,  2  vols.  8vo,  sheep. 

Windham,  1795 
DC7"  Each  volume  has  Autograph. 

39  JEFFERSON.  THOS. — Notes  on  the  State  of  Vir- 

ginia,  second  edition,  8vo,  shp.     Phila.,  1 794 
Has  Autograph. 


PREFACE  xv 

It  was  known,  however,  that  Mr.  Avery  had 
obtained  the  book,  and  as  it  was  reported  that 
he  had  given  it  to  Columbia  University,  I  who 
had  myself  long  sought  to  add  this  item  to  my 
collection  of  Vermontiana,  had  almost  given  up 
hope,  when  —  with  what  joy  you  who  are  col 
lectors  can  imagine  —  I  received  Anderson's 
catalogue  listing  the  prize.  But  alas  !  would  my 
bank  balance  hold  out  when  it  was  put  up  for 
sale  ?  Just  at  that  time  a  spectacular  purchase  in 
London  by  one  of  our  well-known  booksellers 
brought  out  the  following  on  the  editorial  page 
of  the  New  York  'Times: 

"THAT  PRICE  WAS  NOT  FOR 
A  BOOK 

"Lovers  of  books  for  what  is  in  them  rather 
than  for  what  they  are  feel  a  sort  of  irritation 
when  they  read,  as  they  did  yesterday,  about  the 
payment  of  what,  when  exchange  was  normal, 
would  have  been  $75,000  for  a  little  volume  the 
only  merit  of  which  is  that  no  other  copy  of  the 
same  edition  is  known  to  be  in  existence.  There 
are  nobody  knows  how  many  thousand  other  edi 
tions  of  the  same  work,  all  of  them  as  good  or 
better  than  this  one,  in  the  eyes  of  the  reader  as 
distinguished  from  the  collector,  and  most  of 


xvi  PREFACE 

them  can  be  bought  any  day  and  anywhere  for 
a  dollar  or  two. 

"  The  collector,  however,  has  a  reason  for  be 
ing,  and  he  serves  several  innocent  and  even  use 
ful  purposes.  His  only,  or  chief,  fault  is  that  he 
claims —  and  too  often  the  claim  is  admitted  — 
to  be  a  lover  of  books  and  to  have  a  relation  to 
literature.  In  reality,  it  is  not  books  that  interest 
him,  but  irrelevant  things  like  dates  and  bind 
ings  and  associations  with  departed  greatness.  In 
other  words,  he  is  a  curio  hunter,  and  what  he 
calls  his  'library'  is  a  museum  where  the  read 
ing  man  finds  next  to  nothing  that  he  wants — 
nothing  at  all  that  he  must  have." 

I  knew  that  if  the  same  dealer  started  after 
my  heart's  desire  it  would  go  hard  with  me.  I 
had  been  in  contests  with  him  before  and  had  oc 
casionally  come  out  with  the  prize,  but  I  hoped 
he  would  not  get  any  unlimited  orders  for  this 
item  or  want  it  for  himself.  I  could  not  attend 
the  sale,  being  at  that  time  indisposed,  but  I  was 
immediately  made  well  by  the  receipt  of  a  tele 
gram  announcing  that  the  prize  was  won. 

The  priced  page  of  the  Anderson  catalogue 
is  reproduced  here,  that  collectors  may  see  what 
opportunities  our  older  friends  had  in  the  seven 
ties.  Will  our  books  increase  in  value  in  the  same 


r   /T& 


^Facsimile  of  priced  catalogue  page, 

cover  serving  for  both  volumes.  "The  Complete  Angler "  is  bound  in 
green  levant  morocco,  with  emblematic  tooling  of  fishes  in  border,-  and 
red  moire  silk  doublures;  "Walton's  Laves"  is  bound  in  brown  levant 
morocco  gilt  border,  with  rosettes  at  corners  and  sides,  blue  gros-grain 
silk  doublures  and  flys.  Pickering's  Diamond  Edition. 

970.  WALTONIANA.    Inedited  Remains  in  Verse  and  Prose  of 
Izaak  Walton,  Author  of  the  Complete  Angler.     With  notes  and 
Preface  by  Richard  H.  Shepherd.    8vo,  full  green  levant  morocco, 
gilt  back,  gilt  inside  borders,  gilt  edges,  by  F.  Bedford. 

Scarce.  London:  Pickering  and  Co.,  1878 

971.  WARREN    (HON.  J.   LEICESTER).     A  Guide  to  the 
Study  of  Book-Plates  (Ex-Libris).     FIRST  EDITION.     Illustrated. 
8vo,  cloth.  London,  1880 

WITH    GEORGE   WASHINGTON'S   AUTOGRAPH   AND 
BOOKPLATE 

972.  [WASHINGTON  (GEORGE).]   An  History  of  the  Earth, 
the  Animated  Nature.    By  Oliver  Goldsmith.    The  Second  Edition. 
Illustrations.    In  8  vols.    Vol.  VIII.    8vo,  original  polished  calf. 
In  a  polished  calf  slip-case.  London:  J.  Nourse,  1779 

FROM  THE  LIBRARY  OF  GEORGE  WASHINGTON,  WITH  HIS  AUTOGRAPH  ON 
THE  TITLE-PAGE,  AND  HIS  BOOKPLATE  ON  INSIDE  OF  FRONT  COVER*  This 

book  was  inherited  by  Laurence  Washington  and  was  sold  by  him  at 
Philadelphia,  Nov.  28,  1876.  The  set  of  8  vols.  was  purchased  by  John  B. 
Baker,  who  resold  it  in  1891.  The  volumes  were  subsequently  sold 
separately. 

WITH  GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S  AUTOGRAPH 

973.  [ WASHINGTON  ( GEORGE).]   The  Contrast,  A  Comedy; 
in  Five  Acts:    Written  by  a  Citizen  of  the  United  States;  Per 
formed  with  Applause  at  the  Theatres  in  New- York,  Philadelphia, 
and  Maryland;  and  published  by  Thomas  Wignell,    Frontispiece 
designed  by  Wm.  Dunlap  and  engraved  by  Maverick.    8vo,  contem 
porary  American  red  morocco,  borders  and  center-piece  inlaid  in 
green  morocco,  with  conventional  floriated  tooling  in  gilt.     In  a 
maroon  levant  slip-case.          Philadelphia:  Prichard  &  Hall,  1790 

GEORGE  WASHINGTON'S  COPY,  WITH  HIS  AUTOGRAPH  ON  THE  TITLES-PAGE. 
Heading  the  list  of . Subscribers  is  " The  President  of  the  United  States.*' 
The  play  was  written  by  Royal  Tyler  of  Vermont  and  is  said  to  have  been 
the  first  play  represented  by  a  regular  company  on  the  American  stage 
written  by  a  native  American.  Laid  in  is  a  sheet  of  paper  with  the 
Washington  mark,  a  facsimile  of  his  bookplate  and  a  facsimile  of  Wig- 
nell's  letter  presenting  Washington  with  two  copies  of  this  book. 

974.  WASHINGTON  (GEORGE).    George  Washington  to  the 
People  of  the  United  States  announcing  his  intention  of  retiring 
from  Public  Life.     With  a  brilliant  impression  of  the  very  rare 
portrait  by  Edwin,  in  FIRST  STATE.    Hart  360.    Small  folio,  full 
old  red  morocco,  broad  gilt  border  surrounding  an  inner  panel  of 

164 


PREFACE  xvii 

ratio  ?  It  hardly  seems  possible,  but  Mr.  George 
D.  Smith,  who  was  the  premier  book-buyer  of 
the  world,  believed  they  would.  Some  of  us  have 
felt  that  if  he  could  have  lived  twenty  years 
longer  he  would  have  justified  his  opinion. 

William  Loring  Andrews,  in  "  Bibliopegy  in 
the  United  States,"  speaking  of  the  fine  mo 
rocco  binding  on  "Brown's  Illustrated  Family 
Bible/'  1792,  says, 

"  Quite  as  creditable  to  its  author,  and  be 
longing  to  the  same  period  as  the  binding  above 
mentioned,  is  the  one  upon  Washington's  own 
copy  of 'The  Contrast'  (Philadelphia,  MDCCXC) 
a  comedy  written  by  Royal  Tyler  of  Vermont 
for  Thomas  Wignell,  Comedian,  now  in  the 
possession  of  Mr.  S.  P.  Avery,  a  book  made 
doubly  valuable  by  having  the  great  chieftain's 
bold,  clear  signature  upon  the  title-page.  It  is 
a  royal  octavo,  bound  in  a  hard,  close-textured, 
highly  polished  dark  red  morocco,  the  sides  in 
laid  with  green  borders,  with  ornamental  gilt 
scroll  tooling.  The  back  of  the  volume  is  elab 
orately  gilt-tooled  with  small  stamps,  one  of 
which  is  the  acorn,  a  tool  so  frequently  used  by 
the  Mearnes  (the  distinguished  English  biblio- 
pegist  predecessors  of  Roger  Payne),  as  to  have 
become  considered  as  reliable  an  indication  of 


xviii  PREFACE 

their  work,  as  is  the  'sausage' pattern  which 
appears  upon  so  many  of  the  bindings  attributed 
to  them.  .  .  . 

"  Positive  proof  that  this  binding  was  exe 
cuted  in  this  country  is  lacking,  but  appearances 
and  the  circumstantial  evidence  in  the  case, 
point  to  that  conclusion/' 

The  editor  of  this  little  volume  publishes  it, 
as  William  Loring  Andrews  did  his  produc 
tions,  largely  for  the  pleasure  it  gives  him,  and 
with  some  hope  that  others  may  share  that 
pleasure. 

JAMES  BENJAMIN  WILBUR 

November,  1920 

NOTE:  —  With  his  two  copies  of  The  Contrast  Washington  re 
ceived  the  following  letter:  — 

"  Mr.  Wignell,  with  the  utmost  respect  and  deference,  has  the 
honor  of  transmitting  to  the  President   of  the  United   States   two 
copies  of  The  Contrast. 
"Philadelphia  May  2 2nd  1790." 

I  wrote  to  the  Library  of  Congress  to  see  if  the  other  copy  was 
there  and  received  the  following  reply :  — 

" The  Library  of  Congress  has  two  copies  of <  The  Contrast,' 
but,  according  to  reports  from  our  Division  of  Manucripts  and  from 
the  Superintendent  of  the  Reading  Room,  neither  of  them  was 
Washington's.  Moreover,  the  Union  Catalogue  of  books  in  certain 
large  libraries  in  this  country  contains  no  entry  of  any  copy  ap 
parently." 

A  later  letter  states  that  only  one  of  the  copies  in  the  Library  of 
Congress  is  of  the  original  edition,  the  other  being  the  Dunlap 
Society  reprint  of  1887. 


FACSIMILE  OF  BINDING  OF  WASHINGTON'S  COPY 
(Original  5  y%  by  8  %  inches] 


CONTENTS 

INTRODUCTION,  BY  HELEN  TYLER  BROWN  xxiii 

DEDICATION  3 

ADVERTISEMENT  5 

LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS  7 

PROLOGUE  20 

CHARACTERS  22 

THE  CONTRAST  23 
APPENDIX,  BY  HELEN  TYLER  BROWN 

REVIVALS  OF  "  THE  CONTRAST  "  117 

LIST  OF  WORKS  OF  ROYALL  TYLER  Il8 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FACSIMILE    OF    TITLE-PAGE   WITH    WASHINGTON'S 
AUTOGRAPH  vi 

The  paper  page  of  the  original  is  4!  inches  wide  by  8  A  inches  long, 
and  the  type  page,  3/5  by  6i  inches. 

FACSIMILE   OF    PRICED  PAGE   OF   THE    CATALOGUE 
OF  THE  THOMAS  AUCTION  SALE  OF  1876  xiv 

FACSIMILE    OF  PRICED   PAGE    OF   THE    CATALOGUE 
OF  THE  ANDERSON  SALE  OF  1919  xvi 

COLORED    FACSIMILE    OF    BINDING    OF    WASHING 
TON'S  COPY  xviii 


INTRODUCTION 


HE  "Drama  sought  for  a  place  in 
^America  from  early  (Colonial days. 
Fostered  in  some  sections,,  frowned 
upon  in  others,  housed  appropriate 
ly  in  some  cities,  elsewhere  denied 
foot  hold  or  roof  tree,  the  year  1787 
found  the  ^American  public  divid 
ed  for  and  against  it,  with  theatres 
established  in  a  few  of  the  principal  cities.  Farces,  satires, 
tragedies,  written  and  printed  but  not  acted,  and  the  same 
acted  but  not  printed,  had  sprung  up  in  increasing  numbers. 
8ven  in  ^(ew  England,  where  prejudice  was  deep-rooted 
against  all  forms  of  "play-acting,"  collegians  had  written, 
spoken,  and  acted  dramatic  pieces  at  (College  Exhibitions. 
"During  the  ^British  occupancy  of  'Boston,  3\(ew  Tork, 
and  Philadelphia,  plays  were  often  given  by  them,  a  few 
of  which  were  composed  by  officers.  Playbills  of  these  per 
formances  were  sent  to  (general  Washington  and  members 
of  his  armies.  'Plays  by  writers  of  ^American  birth  had 
been  published  and  acted  in  J^ondon  before  the  'Revolution. 
'The  honor  of  having  written  the  first  tragedy  to  be  per 
formed  on  an  American  stage  by  professionals,  belongs  to 
Thomas  Cjodfrey  of  Philadelphia.  His  The  Prince  of  Par- 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION 

thia  was  flayed^  once,  in  Philadelphia ,  ^April,  1767,  #/ 
the^ew  Southwark  Theatre  by  the  ^American  Company. 
The  theme  of  the  tragedy  had  no  thing  to  do  with  America. 

^A  comic  opera,  dealing  with  local  life  and  incidents,  en- 
titled  Disappointment,  or  the  Force  of  Credulity,  writ 
ten  by  Andrew  'Barton — supposed  pseudonym  of  (Colonel 
Forrest,  ofQermantown  —  was  rehearsed  by  the  Amer 
ican  (Company,  but  never  performed.  This  play  was  pub 
lished  twice,  in  1767  and  1797.  'Before  1787  there  had 
been  no  play  written  epitomizing  the  opposing  characteris 
tics  of  the  young  United  States  of  America  —  Originality 
versus  Imitation,  ^Americanism  versus  8uropeanism. 

The  Contrast  was  the  first  comedy,  written  by  an 
^American,  to  be  performed  in  an  ^American  theatre,  by  a 
company  of  professional  actors. 

The  author  of  The  Contrast  was  Roy  all  Tyler,  patri 
ot,  poet,  wit,  dramatist,  jurist,  born  in  'Boston, 
chusetts,  July  18,  1757,  son  of  Roy  all  Tyler 
(Steele),  his  wife.  His  father  was  a  wealthy  merchant,  a 
Representative  of 'Boston  four  years,  a  King's  Councillor 
from  1765  until  his  death  in  ijji,a  member  of  the  J^ong 
1{opm  £lub  and  Sons  ofJ^iberty,  and  a  lover  of  religion  and 
literature. 

lAmong  the  memories  of  Roy  all  Tyler  s  boyhood  were 
those  of  the  black  slaves  about  the  town,  and  once  of  a  ru 
mor  that  they  would  "rise";  of  tales  told  to  him  of  his 
great-grandfather,  the  sea-captain,  Thomas  Tyler,  who 
sailed  out  ofBudleigh,  Devonshire,  and  was  lost  at  sea; 


INTRODUCTION  xxv 

of  the  great-uncle  'Thomas  Tyler, captured  by  ^Algerine  pi 
rates  and  never  heard  of  again,  though  large  ransom  was 
offered  for  him;  and  of  the  taking  of J^ouis  burg  by  Sir  Wil 
liam  'Pepperelly  whose  sister  Jane  was  the  second  wife  of 
his  grandfather,  the  rich  merchant, William  'Tyler;  of  his 
father  talking  about  the  t^ftCother  Country's  injustice  to 
wards  the  Colonies;  of  seeing,  as  he  went  to  and  from  the 
J^atin  School,  handbills  posted  up  warning  persons  not  to 
use  stamped  papers;  of  the  J^iberty  Tree,  with  effigies  hang 
ing  on  it,  and  of  the  bonfires  when  news  of  the  repeal  of  the 
Stamp  ^Act  arrived;  of 'British  troops  landing,  marching 
through  the  streets  andthereafterpatrollingthem;  of  hear 
ing  shots,  bells  ringing,  the  noise  of  people  rushing  by  the 
house,  shouts,  and  a  hurried  call  to  his  father  to  meet  the 
(governor  and  (Council,  the  evening  of  the  'Boston  <^Cassa- 
cre,  in  zJYCarch,  1770;  and  of  the  sudden  ending  of  his  hap 
py  home  life  by  the  deaths  of  his  father  and  his  eldest  sister 
in  <L%Cay,  1771. 

Roy  all  Tyler  entered  college  in  July,  1 772,  one  of  a  class 
many  of  whom  afterwards  distinguished  themselves.  The 
excitement  of  the  times  was  reflected  in  the  C°^eSe  Hall, 
where  there  was  a  fracas,  one  breakfast  hour,  over  the 
drinking  of  tea  by  some  of  the  students,  and  its  non-use 
was  agreed  upon.  The  dispersion  of  the  collegians  after 
the  Battle  of  J^exington  until  the  following  October  gave 
Roy  all  Tyler  opportunities  of  association  with  the  officers 
of  the  ^^evolutionary  lArmy,  and  he  may  well  have  seen 
Washington  take  command  of  the  ^Arrny  in  Cambridge, 
,  1775. 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION 

His  only  brother  was  chosen  by  Washington  for  haz 
ardous  enterprises.  'Their  mother  s  need  of  having  one  son 
near,  in  her  second  widowhood,  prevented  Roy  all  from 
entering  military  service.  He  graduated  from  Harvard, 
July,  1776,  with  degree  oftsf.cB.y  Tale  giving  him  ^.^A. 
in  October  of  the  same  year;''  studied  law  and  was  one  of 
the  group  of  brilliant  young  men  who  met  in  (Colonel  John 
'Trumbuirs  rooms,  where  "  they  regaled  themselves  with 
a  cup  of  tea,  instead  of  wine,  and  discussed  subjects  of  liter 
ature,  politics,  and  War."  Joining  the  Independent  (Com 
pany  of 'Boston  in  1776,  be  served,  as  aide  with  rank  of 
major,  under  general  Sullivan  in  the  campaign  against 
U^ewport  in  1778. 

^Admitted  to  the  bar  August  19, 1780,  he  first  prac 
tised  in  Falmouth  (now  ^Portland],  ^Caine,  later  settling 
in  ^raintree  (now  Quincy).  'Very  handsome,  with  a  mu 
sical  voice,  fond  of  social  intercourse,  devoted  to  kindred 
and  friends,  fond  of  children  and  always  ready  to  amuse 
them,  bubbling  over  with  gaiety  and  humorous  speech, 
with  a  keen  eye  for  foibles  and  a  ready  tongue  for  satiriz 
ing  them,  a  boyish  liking  for  playing  jokes  on  people,  open- 
hearted  and  generous,  he  was  admired  by  many  and  hated 
by  a  few.  His  reputation  for  wit,  scholarship,  legal  and 
literary  genius  was  widely  extended. 

Soon  he  became  the  ardent  lover  and  accepted  suitor  of 
beautiful  ^(Ciss  ^Abby  <iAdams.  When  he  was  on  the  eve 
of  crossing  the  seas  to  wed  his  betrothed —  then  in  Europe 

1  He  received  the  degree  of  A.  M.  from  Harvard  in  1799,  and  the  Univer 
sity  of  Vermont  gave  him  an  honorary  degree  of  A.  M.  in  1 8 1 1 . 


INTRODUCTION  xxvii 

with  her  parents  —  bis  letters  and  gifts  to  her  were  re 
turned  to  him,  with  a  verbal  message  of  dismissal. 

"Being  of  a  sensitive  temperament  and  deep  affections, 
this  disappointment  was  a  crushing  blow.  He  shut  up  bis 
law  office,  and  for  several  months  secluded  himself  from  all 
his  friends  in  his  mother  s  home  in  Jamaica  'Plain ;  but  his 
character  was  too  vigorous  to  permit  melancholy  long  to 
hold  him  in  thrall.  'Presuming  his  law  practice  in  'Boston 
in  1785,  be  boarded  with  the  Honorable  Joseph  hearse 
'Palmer  and  his  family .  J^ittle  "  Tolly  "  (JtCary)  "Palmer, 
an  unusually  intelligent  and  lovely  child,  was  a  great  fa 
vorite  of  his,  and,  play  fully,  he  used  to  call  her  his  "little 
wife.y' 

^During  Sbays's  "Rebellion,  1786-87,  he  served  as  aide 
to  (general  J^incoln,  with  rank  of  major;  actively,  in  the 
field  with  a  troop  of  cavalry,  and  diplomatically,  on  a 
mission  to  the  government  of  Vermont. 

From  ^Bennington,  under  date  of  February  17, 1787, 
<LMajor  Tyler  wrote  a  hasty  note  to  his  friends  the  'Pal 
mers,  in  ^Boston,  concluding  with  the  words  "tyve  to  my 
little  wife."  This  message  was  to  the  child  who  after 
wards  became  his  wife,  whose  single-hearted  affection  for 
Roy  all  Tyler,  from  the  day  of  their  first  meeting  when  she 
was  a  very  little  girl  to  the  end  of  a  long  life,  has  been  en- 
shrined  in  the  memories  of  jive  generations  of  descendants. 

Sent  to  3\(ew  York  on  a  similar  mission  from  (governor 
'Bowdoin  to  (governor  (Clinton,  be  reached  there  on  ^hCarch 
12,  1787,  and  was  immediately  introduced  to  the  society 
and  pleasures  of  the  city.  He  became  a  constant  attendant 


xxviii  INTRODUCTION 

at  the  John  Street  Theatre,  and  intimate  with  the  actors, 
especially  with  Wignell,  the  comedian  of  the  American 
tym-pany. 

If<L%£ajor  Tyler  went  to  the  theatre  the  evening  that 
he  arrived^  he  witnessed  the  -performance  of  *Addisoris 
Cato,  and  through  the  month  Richard  III,  School  for 
Scandal,  Jane  Shore,  Cymbeline,  Alexander  the  Great, 
and  The  True-Born  Irishman. 

Whether  the  statement  of  a  U^ew  York  correspond 
ent  to  a  ^Boston  paper  under  date  of  ^April  16,1887  (the 
centennial  anniversary  of  the  first  performance  of  The 
Contrast),  that  "  Roy  all  Tyler  arrived  in  ZN^ew  Tork 
from  ^Boston,  bringing  with  him  the  unfinished  play"  is 
true,  I  cannot  prove.  ^At  that  date  there  were  persons 
living  who  had  been  acquainted  with  Mrs.  Roy  all  Tyler, 
and  who  might  have  known  her  husband,  and  it  is  possible 
that  the  correspondent  was  transmitting  to  the  public  in 
form  at  ion  that  he  had  verbally  received.  It  is  certainly 
to  be  inferred  from  a  p  er  us  al  of  the  unpublished  ^(Cemoirs 
of  Roy  all  Tyler  that,  prior  to  1787,  he  had  been  urged  by 
those  who  believed  in  his  literary  powers  to  try  his  hand 
at  writing  drama,  and  that,  if  he  did  not  carry  to  ZN^ew 
Tork  the  unfinished  play  in  his  pocket,  he  may  have  carried 
the  idea  in  his  mind. 

It  is  told  in  family  annals  that  Roy  all  Tyler  wrote  verse 
and  prose  from  his  college  days,  but  unless  the  four  manu 
script  poems  in  the  Boston  Public  J^ibrary  were  written 
prior  to  The  Contrast,  this  comedy  is  the  earliest  of  his 
writings  to  be  preserved.  We  can  imagine  the  eagerness 


INTRODUCTION  xxix 

with  which  the  manager  of  the  American  (Company  read 
the  manuscript  tf/'The  Contrast,  accepted  it ^  and  prepared 
for  its  production.  *A  newspaper  writer,  *April  1 4, 1 7  8  7, 
said,  "  /  wait  with  impatience  for  the  new  comedy -,  for  I 
believe  it  will  supply  a  great  deal  of  game" 


THEATRE  — ON  THIS  EVENING 

Never  performed 

(BEING  THE   i6xH  OF  APRIL) 

will  be  performed  a  COMEDY  of  Five  Acts, 
written  by  a  CITIZEN  of  the  United  States, 

CALLED 

THE  CONTRAST 


To  ^which  'will  be  added  the  ENGLISH  BURLETTO 
called  MIDAS 

runs  the  advertisement  of  the  first  performance  of  Roy  all 
Tyler' s  comedy  in  the  ZN^ew  Tork  newspapers  of  <^April 
16,1787. 

The  little  John  Street  Theatre  was  crowded,  *April  1 6, 
ijSj,we  can  be  sure,  with  rank  and  fashion.  The  theatre 
was  of  woody  painted  red,  back  some  sixty  feet  from  the 
street^  and  entered  by  a  rough  covered  passageway,  from 
street  to  doors.  The  performances  were  arranged  so  as  not 
to  interfere  with  the  evening  ^Assemblies,  and  were  given 
only  two  or  three  times  a  week.  T)oors  opened  at  5.30  and 
the  performance  began  at  6.15.  The  duties  of  the  candle- 


xxx  INTRODUCTION 

snuffer  were  no  sinecure ,  a s  candles  gave  the  only  light  and 
needed  continual  attention.  ^Prices  were,  for  a  seat  in  a 
boxy  eight  shillings  ($  i  .00) ;  in  the  pit,  six  shillings;  and 
in  the  gallery,  four  shillings.  <^A  full  house  would  total 
eight  hundred  dollars.  The  writer  who  hoped  for  "  a  great 
deal  of  game"  from  the  "new  comedy,"  complains  in  the 
same  article  of  the  scenery  and  that  "the  musicians,  in 
stead  of  performing  between  the  play  and  farce,  are  suf 
fered  to  leave  the  theatre  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  tippling 
houses,  and  the  ladies,  in  the  meantime,  must  amuse  them 
selves  by  looking  at  the  candles  and  the  empty  benches."  Is 
the  inference  to  be  drawn  that  the  gentlemen  in  the  house 
followed  the  example  of  the  musicians? 

The  Contrast  was  repeated,  ^April  1 8,  with  altera 
tions  ;  zJtfay  i,"  at  the  particular  request  of  his  excellency, 
cJflfr.  Hancock  " ;  and<3tfay  \  i,  "for  the  benefit  of  the  un 
happy  sufferers  by  the  late  fire  at  'Boston  (at  the  particular 
request  of  the  Author)" 

tJKCay  1 9,  on  <^Cr.  WigneWs  night,  after  the  play  The 
Recruiting  Officer,  there  was  given  "*A  £omic  Opera  in 
2  ^Acts  (never  performed)  written  by  the  author  0/*The 
Contrast,  called  May  Day  in  Town,  or  New  York  in  an 
Uproar.  'The  music  compiled  from  the  most  eminent  mas 
ters  with  an  overture  and  accompaniments."  The  songs  of 
the  opera  were  sold  on  the  evening  of  the  performance .  The 
farce  was  a  skit  on  <^Cay  T)ay  as  moving-day. 

William  (^r  ay  son  (cJ^T.  £.)  writing  to  zJXCadison,  ^Cay 
24,  ijSj,from  3\(ew  York,  said:  '"Dear  Sir,  We  have 
lately  had  a  new  farce  wrote  by  *Poet  Tyler,  called  May 


INTRODUCTION  xxxi 

Day  :  //  basplott  and  incident  and  is  as  good  as  several  of 
ye  English  farces ;  It  has  however  not  succeeded  we/I,  ow 
ing  I  believe  to  ye  author's  making  his  principal  character 
a  scold.  Some  ofthe^ew  York  ladies  were  alarmed  for 
fear  strangers  should  look  upon  <L%Crs.  Sanders  as  the  mod 
el  of  the  gentlewomen  of  this  place.  William  Cjrayson."  ' 

of composite  of  quotations  from  the  long  critical  reviews 
in  the  contemporary  newspapers  shows  the  public  estimate 
of  play  and  author :  "  The  production  of  a  man  of  genius 
. . .  nothing  can  be  more  praiseworthy  than  the  sentiments 
of  the  play —  They  are  the  effusions  of  an  honest ^patriot 
heart  expressed  with  energy  and  eloquence. . . .  ^Carias 
song  and  her  reflections  after  if,  are  pretty  but  certainly 
misplaced... the  many  beauties  of  the  play  ...the  unceasing 
plaudits  of  the  audience  did  them  ample  justice. . . .  Upon  the 
whole  the  defects  of  the  play  are  much  overbalanced  by  its 
merits" 

"  tJXCany  of  the  first  characters  of  the  United  States 
were  also  present — The  repeated  bursts  of  applause  ...is 
the  most  unequivocal  proof  of  its  possessing  the  true  re 
quisites  of  comedy  in  a  very  great  degree."  It  "was  per 
formed  amid  continued  roars  of  applause...  an  ^American 
comic  production  is  a  novelty ',  therefore  it  was  pleasing . . . 
the  piece  had  merit... merit  ,withnovelty,  forces  applause." 

"  That  lively  effort  of  ^American  'Dramatic  (jenius,  the 
£omedy  of  The  Contrast  was  represented. ..to  a  numerous 
and  brilliant  <iAudience,  with  reiterated  ^Bursts  of  ^Ap 
plause ',  giving  a  convincing  'Proof  to  liberal  minds  ^  that 

1  Madison  Papers,  Library  of  Congress. 


xxxii  INTRODUCTION 

the  Stage  may  justly  be  styled  a  School  for  rational  In 
struction  and  innocent  Recreation." 

Once  more  it  was  given  in^ew  Tork — June  i  o,  1 7  8  9. 
^Cary  'Palmer  was  then  living  in  the  family  of  the  Hon 
orable  81  bridge  (jerry.  She  has  recorded,  in  an  unpublished 
autobiography,  the  delight  she  experienced  in  hearing  zMr. 
(jerry  and  his  family  talking  of  the  success  of  The  Con 
trast,  enactingparts  of  it,  and  praising  the  genius  of  its  au 
thor  in  "  writing  of  the  Yankee  in  such  a  masterly  way" 
and  how  keenly  she  disliked  their  criticisms .  She  understood 
"  that  Charlotte  and  Jonathan  were  the  favorites"  of  the 
public. 

'Philadelphia  heard  Wignelhv&di  The  Contrast  in  'De 
cember ',  1787,  and  it  was  twice  performed  there,  in  July, 
1790.  ^Baltimore saw  The  Contrast,  ^(ovember,  1787, 
and  ^August,  1788.^  "pirated performance  "  was  given 
in  Williamsburg  in  1791.  In  October,  1792,  The  Con 
trast  was  brought  out  in  Boston  at  an  experimental  the 
atre  recently  built,  but  called  an  Exhibition  Room,  the 
plays  being  called  Moral  Lectures,z»  deference  to  the  State 
law  against  theatrical  representations  and  the  weight  of 
prejudice  against  play-acting  "  still  existent  among  the  peo 
ple"  'The  last  performance  of  The  Contrast  in  the  life- 
time  of  its  author  was  in  'Boston,  <^M^ay,  1795. 

/  wish  I  could  record  that  Washington  witnessed  a 
performance  of  The  Contrast,  but  he  did  not.  He  was  not 
in  U^ew  Tork  in  1787,  was  ill  at  the  time  of  its  revival 
in  1789,  and  was  not  in  Baltimore,  Philadelphia,  or  Wil 
liamsburg  when  it  was  given  in  those  cities. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxiii 

Roy  all  'Tyler  was  so  delighted  with  Wigneir  s  acting 
of  Jonathan  that  he  gave  him  the  copyright  of  the  play, 
insisting  that  his  own  name  should  not  appear  on  the  title- 
page.  January ',  1790,  Wignell published  The  Contrast 
in  Philadelphia,  by  subscription.  The  list  of  subscribers 
was  headed  by  "The  President  of  the  United  States" 
Wignell  gave  two  beautifully  bound  copies  to  the^President 
and  received  his  acknowledgment  of  the  gift.  One  of 
Washington  s  copies  0/The  Contrast  is  owned  by  cJftfr. 
James^.  Wilbur ,  of  ^Canch  ester,  Vermont.  It  is  consid 
ered  one  of  the  best  examples  of  ^American  bookbinding. 

'The  authorship  of  the  song  sung  by  <L%Caria,  called"  very 
pretty  "  by  a  contemporary  reviewer,  has  been  in  dispute. 
Jftfr.  <^CcK^e,  in  the  Introduction  to  the  T>unlap,  1887, 
edition  of  The  Contrast,  expressed  the  belief  that  Roy  all 
'Tyler  wrote  it. 

The  Death  Song  of  a  Cherokee  Indian  was  published 
in  January ',  1787,  in  The  American  Museum,  or  Re 
pository  of  Ancient  and  Modern  Fugitives,  (vol.  i,p. 
90,)  unsigned.  In  an  edition  0/*The  Museum,  \*]^Q,the 
song  is  placed  under  CP.  Freneau  s  name.  ^Philip  Freneau, 
jealous  as  he  was  of  his  literary  reputation,  never  included 
this  song  in  his  printed  collections  of  his  works. 

New  Spain,  or,  Love  in  Mexico,  an  opera  acted  and 
published  in  J^ondon,  1 790,  contained  the  song,  with  omis 
sions  and  additions,  and  it  appeared  (I  am  told)  in  the  li 
bretto  0/*Tammany,  by  ^hCrs.Hatton  in  1794. 

<vf#  anthropologist  says  that  the  name  "  Alknomook" 
with  its  variations,  "4/knomock"  as  in  The  American 


xxxiv  INTRODUCTION 

Museum  version  of  The  Death  Song  of  a  Cherokee 
Indian,  and  "iAlknomo?k,"  as  in  the  same  song  in  the  op 
era  of  New  Spain,  or  Love  in  New  Mexico,  is  of^Algon- 
quin  origin.  *A  ^ew-8nglander,  writing  an  Indian  song, 
would  naturally  use  an  ^Algonquin  name,  as  ^Algonquin 
Indians  inhabited  that  section  of  the  United  States.  Roy  all 
Tyler  published  dozens  of  songs,  and  his  almost  invariable 
custom  was  to  conceal  his  identity  when  his  writings  were 
printed. 

<L%fr.  tJftCcK^ee  said  that "  the  music  was  published  con 
temporaneously  with  the  play"  <^A  copy  of  the  original 
sheet  music  in  the  ZN^ew  York  Public  J^ibrary,  headed 
Alknomook,  The  Death  Song  of  the  Cherokee  In 
dians,  New  York,  Printed  &  sold  by  G.  Gilfert,  No 
177  Broadway.  Likewise  to  be  had  of  P.  A.  Van  Ha- 
gens,  Music  store,  No  3  Cornhill,  Boston,  has,  in  the 
margin,  by  the  "Qbrary  Authorities,^  the  date,  1 800, 
with  a  question-mark,  and  also  the  manuscript  note, "  The 
J\(ew  York  directories  give  Qeorge  Cjilfert*  s  address  at 
177  Broadway  from  1798-1801." 

<L%Crs.  *Anne  (Home)  Hunter,  the  wife  of  a  celebrated 
English  physician,  included  Alknomook,  version  as  in 
The  Contrast,  in  a  volume  of  Poems  published  in  J^on- 
don  by  *T.  ^Payne  in  1 802,  and  1 803 .  There  is  a  review  of 
these  Poems  mentioning  The  Death  Song  of  the  Indian, 
the  son  of  Alknomook,  in  the  British  Critic,  October, 
1802,  vol.  20,  p.  409.  In  an  obituary  notice  of  <LMrs. 
Hunter  occurs  this  sentence, "  The  death  song  of  Alkno 
mook,  the  Indian  warrior,  was  written  before  many  of 


INTRODUCTION  xxxv 

those  who  sing  it  now  were  born. . . ."  (The  Gentleman's 
Magazine,  vol.  91, pt.  i,  January,  i8iiyp.  90.) 

<^fn  English  writer  says,  referring  to  ^Crs.  Hunter  s 
Poems,  "  The  c  Death-Song  of  Alknomook '  is  there, 
such  a  popular  song  in  its  day,  written  for  the  gentleman 
who  had  resided  amongst  the  (Cherokee  Indians  and  had 
sung  their  wild  music  in  the  drawing  room  at  J^eicester 
Square."  (From  article  by  Flora  season  in  Blackwood's 
Magazine, February,  1905,  pp.  2 1 7-233, "  <^Crs.  John 
Hunter  the  Surgeon  s  Wife."} 

These  are  the  chief  facts  that  I  have  been  able  to  dis 
cover  in  regard  to  <^Cariays  song. 

That  The  Contrast  largely  aided  in  dissolving  the  pre 
judice  against  the  theatre  cannot  be  gainsaid. 

Sheridan  s  School  for  Scandal  no  doubt  served  as  a 
model  for  the  inexperienced  dramatist,  who  had  not  been 
inside  a  regular  theatre  before  coming  to  3\(ew  York,  but 
The  Contrast  was  truly  an  American  comedy,  a  crystal 
lization,  clothed  and  endowed  with  life,  of  the  contrasts 
of  the  tastes  and  fashions,  the  manners  and  morals,  of  the 
period. 

The  play  was  an  illustrated  lesson  in  patriotism  needed, 
because,  mingling  with  stanch  patriots,  were  those  who 
aped  foreign  modes  and  felt,  or  feigned  to  feel,  disdain  for 
the  new  Republic  and  distrust  of  its  (government. 

The  creation  <?/*  Jonathan  was  a  stroke  of  genius  —  no 
thing  else  —  a  real  Yankee,  true  to  type  in  each  word  and 
act,  the  original  of  the  stage  Yankee  seen  from  that  day  to 
this.  Jonathan's  use  of  the  words  <?/*  Yankee  Doodle  is 


xxxvi  INTRODUCTION 

the  first  instance  of  their  appearance  in  a  play,  though  I 
believe  the  air  is  used  in'Bar  ton  s  Disappointment  (1767, 
not  acted).  Jonathans  reference  to  "bundling"  then  a 
well-known  country  custom ,  was  a  skilful  touch  of  truthful 
delineation.  "  ^Br  other  Jonathan  "  has  long  stood,  in  pic 
tures ',  songs,  and  stories ,  as  the  impersonation  of"  Uncle 
Sam"  invariably  garbed  and  delineated  as  a  typical  Yan 
kee.  It  seems  to  me  probable  that  this  characterization 
of  "brother  Jonathan  "  arose  from  the  fusing  in  the  pub 
lic  mind  of  the  popular  Yankee  Jonathan  in  The  Contrast 
and  the  general  knowledge  that  Washington  often  said, 
when  perplexed,"  J^et  us  consult  Brother  Jonathan" 
meaning  the  stanch  Yankee  patriot  Jonathan  Trumbull, 
(governor  of  (Connecticut. 

Roy  all  'Tyler  was  preeminently  a  patriot  in  his  senti 
ments,  and  I  believe  that  in  Manly's  character  he  ex 
pressed  himself,  disguised  by  some  characteristics  not 
his  own. 

The  Contrast  was  widely  read,  copies  finding  their 
way  into  remote  country  districts.  *An  illustration  of  this  is 
the  fact  that  the  author,  when  on  a  horseback  trip  into  the 
State  ofU^ew  York  in  17  91,  found  that  his  host  in  U^ew 
J^ebanon  possessed  a  well-worn  copy  and,  moreover,  knew 
the  play  almost  by  heart. 

William  "Dunlap,  called  "  the  father  of  ^American  dra 
ma,"  returning  to  3\(ew  York  while  the  success  of  The 
Contrast  was  still  the  talk  of  the  town,  was  stimulated  to 
emulation  and  at  once  began  his  career,  remarkably  re 
warded,  as  an  American  dramatist. 


INTRODUCTION  xxxvii 

"Removing  to  Vermont  in  1790,  Roy  all  Tyler  became 
a  successful  advocate  and  jurist — State  s  Attorney  for 
Windham  County ',  1 794-1 80 1 ;  Side-Judge ', 1 80 1- 1 807 ; 
C^itf  Justice  of  the  Supreme  £ourt  of  Vermont,  1 807- 
1813;  Trustee  (1802-1813)  and  Professor  of  Jurispru 
dence  (1811-1814)  of  *the  University  of  Vermont ;  after 
leaving  the  'Bench,  Register  of  ^Probate  for  Windham 
County  for  six  years.  He  died  in  ^rattleboro,  Vermont, 
after  jive  years  of  severe  disease,  nobly  endured,  ^August 
26,  1826. 

He  was  noted  throughout  the  State  for  histstrict  integ 
rity,  his  breadth  of  sympathy,  his  learning  and  depth  of 
knowledge  of  the  J^aw.  His  personality  so  stamped  itself 
on  the  State  that,  to  this  day,  lawyers  know  of  his  ability 
and  genius,  and  anecdotes  of  his  proceedings  in  courts  and 
his  witty  conversation  have  been  handed  down  among 
them.  His  charges  were  especially  valued  by  the  barris 
ters  of  the  day.  He  was  largely  instrumental  in  stabiliz 
ing  law  proceedings  and  public  sentiment  in  the  days  when 
many  minds  were  unsettled  and  inclined  to  countenance 
lawlessness. 

He  was  a  prolific  writer,  but  his  verse  and  prose,  with 
a  few  exceptions,  were  written  hastily,  as  relaxation  from 
the  serious  business  of  life,  and  he  rarely  polished  and 
pruned  his  work.  His  writings  in  magazines  and  news 
papers  deal  with  contemporary  drama  and  theatrical 
representations,  with  the  whole  range  of  literature,  and 
with  the  topics  of  the  day,  its  shifting  fashions,  its  poli 
tics,  and  its  manners  and  morals.  *A  Federalist  in  poli- 


xxxviii  INTRODUCTION 

tics,  be  bad,  at  times,  a  breadth  of  vision  in  advance  of 
bis  age.  <^A  'Vermont  newspaper  article  printed  shortly 
after  his  death  spoke  of  him  as  "  one  of  our  most  distin 
guished  advocates"  and  of  "that  classical  eloquence  which 
has  given  great  celebrity  to  his  name"  and  closed  with 
the  following  appreciation :  "tsfs  a  man  of 'genius ,  a  poet, 
an  orator,  a  civilian  and  erudite  and accomplished scholar 'y 
and  a  gentleman  of  the  most  elegant  and  endearing  man 
ners  in  social  and  domestic  life,  his  memory  will  long  be 
cherished  with  affection  and  respect,  by  the  companions  of 
his  youth  in  ^Massachusetts,  and  those  of  his  mature  and 
declining  y  ear  sinVermont.  The  Algerine  Captive,  un 
questionably  one  of  the  most  original  and  brilliant  pro 
ductions  of  this  generation,  will  forever  secure  him  a  high 
rank  among  ^American  writers,  and  the  future  admirers 
of  his  beautiful  poems  will  'give  his  name  in  charge  to  the 
sweet  lyre'"  (Northern  Sentinel,  September  8,  1826.) 
<iA glance  through  the  remains  of  Roy  all  Tyler's  wide 
correspondence  affords  interesting  glimpses  of  the  appre 
ciation  of  his  character  felt  by  the  writers.  J*etters  and 
"Journals  of  himself,  wife,  and  kindred  reveal  the  nobility 
of  spirit,  the  lovingkindness  of  heart,  the  courage  of  soul 
that  knit  him  to  them  in  ties  of  devotion  and  admiration. 

HELEN  TYLER  BROWN 
Brattleboroy  Vermont,  September,  1920 


THE  CONTRAST 

COMEDY  /'»  Five  *Acts 

r 


As  a  just  acknowledgment  of  the  liberal 
exertions  by  which  the  STAGE  has  been 
rescued  from  an  ignominious  proscription 

THE  CONTRAST 

(being  the  first  essay  of  ^American  Cjenius 

in  the  dramatic  art)  is  most  respectfully 

dedicated  to  the  'President  and  tJtfembers 

of the^Dramatic  Association  by  their  most 

obliged  and  most  grateful  servant 

THOMAS  WIGNELL 

(   PHILADELPHIA  ) 
I  i  January,  1790^ 


ADVERTISEMENT 


TH  E  Subscribers  (to  whom  the  Editor  thankfully  pro 
fesses  his  obligations]  may  reasonably  expect  an  apo 
logy  for  the  delay  which  has  attended  the  appearance  of 
THE  CONTRAST  ;  but,  as  the  true  cause  cannot  be  declared 
without  leading  to  a  discussion,  which  the  Editor  wishes 
to  avoid,  be  hopes  that  the  care  and  expense  which  have 
been  bestowed  upon  this  work  will  be  accepted,  without 
further  scrutiny,  as  an  atonement  for  his  seeming  negligence. 

In  justice  to  the  ^Author,  however,  it  may  be  proper 
to  observe  that  this  Comedy  has  many  claims  to  the  pub 
lic  indulgence,  independent  of  its  intrinsic  merits :  If  is 
the  first  essay  of  American  genius  in  a  difficult  species  of 
composition ;  it  was  written  by  one  who  never  critically 
studied  the  rules  of  the  drama,  and,  indeed,  had  seen  but 
few  of  the  exhibitions  of  the  stage ;  it  was  undertaken 
and  finished  in  the  course  of  three  weeks;  and  the  profits 
of  one  night 's  performance  were  appropriated  to  the  bene 
fit  of  the  sufferers  by  the  fire  at  Boston. 

These  considerations  will,  therefore,  it  is  hoped,  supply 
in  the  closet  the  advantages  that  are  derived  from  repre 
sentation,  and  dispose  the  reader  to  join  in  the  applause 
which  has  been  bestowed  upon  this  Comedy  by  numerous 
and  judicious  audiences,  in  the  Theatres  of 'Philadelphia, 
^ew-Tork, 


LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS 

THE  PRESIDENT  of  the  United  States. 

A 

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Samuel  Anderson,  Esq. 
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Mr.  George  Arnold. 

Mr.  W.  Alexander,  Philadelphia. 
Mr.  Joseph  Anthony. 
Mr.  Thomas  P.  Anthony. 

Alexander  Aikman,  Esq.,  Island  of  Jamaica,  20  copies. 


J.  Barrell,  Esq.,  Boston. 

Dr.  Richard  Bayley,  New-York. 
William  Banyer,  Esq. 
Mr.  George  N.  Bleecker. 
George  Bond,  Esq. 
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8  LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS 

Mr.  Nathan  Boys,  Philadelphia. 

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Mr.  John  Brown. 

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Mr.  William  Brown. 

Mr.  Richard  Brown. 

William-Ward  Burrows,  Esq. 

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Mr.  Mathew  Beard. 

Mr.  John  Beard. 

Mr.  Thomas  Bicknell. 

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Mr.  Nicholas  Brewer. 

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P.  Bowdoin,  Esq.,  Virginia. 
Mr.  John  Brooks. 
Mr.  Daniel  Broadhead. 

John  Beard,  Esq.,  London. 

C 

Charles  Van  Cortlant,  Esq.,  New- York. 

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LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS 

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D 

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Mrs.  Dallas. 

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Mr.  John  Dorsey. 

Capt.  Patrick  Duffey. 

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Mr.  John  Dunlap. 

A  Friend  to  the  Drama. 

A  Friend  to  the  Drama. 

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io  LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS 

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P.  M.  Drummond,  Esq.,  Madeira. 

E 

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F 

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Mr.  William  Foxcroft,  2  copies. 
Alexander  Frazier,  Esq.,  3  copies. 

Mr.  William  Faulkener,  Virginia. 
Colonel  John  Fitzgerald. 

Peter  Freneau,  Esq.,  Charleston,  South  Carolina. 

G  . 

Mr.  Hugh  Gaine,  New- York,  12  copies. 

Mr.  A.  (Met. 

Mr.  Isaac  Gomez,  jun. 

Mr.  Thomas  Giese,  Philadelphia. 
Mr.  Charles  Gilchrist. 
Mr.  John  Gordon. 

John  Gale,  Esq.,  Maryland,  2  copies. 
Mr.  David  Geddis. 


LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS  n 

Capt.  John  Gassaway,  Maryland. 

Mr.  Charles  Grahame,  2  copies. 

John  Grahame,  Esq.,  4  copies. 

Messrs.  Frederick  and  Samuel  Green,  6  copies. 

Mr.  John  Guyer. 

William  S.  Grayson,  Esq.,  Virginia. 
Mr.  Joseph  Greenway. 
Mr.  Job  Greene. 

H 

David  Van  Home,  Esq.,  New- York. 
Colonel  David  Humphreys. 

Mr.  Parry  Hall,  Philadelphia. 
William  Hamilton,  Esq. 
Mr.  Joseph  Harper. 
Mr.  James  Hawthorne. 
Mr.  R.  Hiltzheimer. 
Samuel  Hodgdon,  Esq. 
Mr.  John  Hubley. 
George  Hughes,  Esq. 
Asheton  Humphreys,  Esq. 
Mr.  Pearson  Hunt. 

Benjamin  Hall,  Esq.,  Maryland,  3  copies. 

Capt.  John  Hamilton,  4  copies. 

Mrs.  Rebecca  Hanson. 

William  Harwood,  Esq., 2  copies. 

Honorable  Robert-Hanson  Harrison,  2  copies. 

Nicholas  Harwood,  Esq. 

Thomas  Harwood,  Esq.,  2  copies. 

Benjamin  Harwood,  Esq.,  6  copies. 

Richard  Harwood,  jun.,  Esq. 

Mrs.  Rachel  Harwood. 

Mr.  Osborn  Harwood. 

Mr.  George  R.  Hayward,  3  copies. 

William  Hayward,  jun.,  Esq. 


12  LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS 

Honorable  William  Hemsley,  Maryland,  2  copies. 

Rev.  Ralph  Higginbotham,  3  copies. 

Capt.  Philip  Hill. 

James  Hindman,  Esq.,  2  copies. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Howard. 

Mr.  Samuel-Harvey  Howard,  3  copies. 

Mrs.  Mary  Howard. 

Mr.  Benjamin  A.  Hamp,  Virginia. 

Mr.  Nicholas  Hannah. 

Mr.  S.  Hanson,  of  Samuel. 

Benjamin  Harrison,  jun.,  Esq. 

Mr.  Gilbert  Harrow. 

Mr.  W.  Hodson. 

Mr.  Charles  P.  Howard. 

Mr.  William  Hunter,  sen. 

Mr.  William  Hunter,  jun.,  Esq. 

Mr.  Thomas  Hall,  Charleston,  2  copies. 
Thomas  Hull,  Esq.,  London. 

I 

Honorable  H.  Izard,  New- York. 
Mr.  John  Johnson. 

Major  W.  Jackson,  Philadelphia. 
Jeremiah  Jackson,  Esq. 

Thomas  Jennings,  Esq. ,  Maryland,  2  copies. 

Mr.  Thomas  Jennings,  jun. 

Mr.  George  Jennings. 

Thomas  Johnson,  jun.,  Esq.,  3  copies. 

Mr.  Robert  Johnson. 

Mr.  John  Johnson. 

Mr.  Robert  Isabel. 

Mr.  Crawford  Jenckes,  Virginia. 
Mr.  C.  Jones. 


LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS  13 

K 
H.  Knox,  Esq.,  Secretary  of  War  for  the  United  States,  New- York. 

Capt.  Francis  Knox,  Philadelphia. 
Mr.  William  Kidd. 

Honorable  John  Kilty,  Maryland,  3  copies. 
William  Kilty,  Esq.,  3  copies. 
Mr.  William  King. 
Miss  Eliza  Knapp. 
Miss  Anne  Knapp. 

Messrs.  Warington  and  Keen,  Virginia. 
Mr.  James  Kennedy. 

L 

Tobias  Lear,  Esq.,  New- York. 
William  S.  Livingston,  Esq. 
Mr.  Samuel  Low, 

Mr.  Thomas  Lea,  Philadelphia. 
William  Lewis,  Esq.,  3  copies. 
Mr.  William  Levis. 
Mr.  H.  I.  Lombart. 

Honble.  Randolph  B.  Latimer,  Maryland,  4  copies. 
Benjamin  Lowndes,  Esq.,  2  copies. 

Mr.  John  Lester,  Virginia. 
Mr.  W.  Lowrey. 

M 

Mr.  A.  Marshall,  New- York. 
Mr.  Patrick  M'Davitt. 
Mr.  Peter  Maverick. 
Mr.  John  Miller. 
Jacob  Morton,  Esq. 

His  Excellency  Thomas  Mifflin,  President  of  the  State  of  Pennsyl 
vania,  Philadelphia. 


14  LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS 

Honorable  Thomas  M'Kean,  Chief  Justice,  Philadelphia. 

Honorable  Robert  Morris. 

Stephen  Moylan,  Esq. 

Major  Thomas  L.  Moore. 

Mr.  William  Moore. 

Major  Mathew  M'Connell. 

Mr.  Owen  Morris. 

Mr.  Peter  Markoe. 

Mr.  John  M'Cree. 

Mr.  James  Muir. 

Mr.  Charles  Maccubbin,  Maryland,  3  copies. 

Mr.  James  Maccubbin. 

Mr.  Samuel  Maccubbin. 

William  H.  M'Pherson,  Esq. 

Mrs.  Elizabeth  M'Pherson. 

Mr.  Cornelius  Mills,  3  copies. 

Mr.  Robert  Miller,  2  copies. 

Addison  Murdock,  Esq.,  3  copies. 

Dr.  James  Murray,  2  copies. 

John  Muir,  Esq.,  8  copies. 

Mr.  James  M'Culloch. 

Mr.  Walker  Muse. 

Mr.  P.  Marsteller,  Virginia. 
Mr.  John  M'Clenachan. 
Mr.  Evan  M 'Clean. 
Mr.  Joshua  Merryman. 
Mr.  William  Miller. 
Mr.  William  M'Whir. 
Mr.  John  Murray. 
Mr.  Patrick  Murray. 

Alexander  M'Kinnon,  Esq.,  London. 

N 
Captain  Robert  North,  Poughkeepsie. 

Mr.  William  Nixon,  New- York. 


LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS 
o 

Abraham  Ogden,  Esq.,  New- York. 
Abraham  Osgood,  Esq. 
Mr.  Henry  Oudenarde. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Oden,  Maryland. 
Mrs.  B.  Ogle,  2  copies. 
Mr.  Thomas  Orrick. 
Mr.  Richard  Owens. 

P 

Richard  Platt,  Esq.,  New- York,  10  copies. 
G.  Pintard,  Esq.,  4  copies. 
Mr.  George  Pollock. 
Mr.  J.  W.  Prevost. 
William  Popham,  Esq. 

Robert  Patton,  Esq.,  Philadelphia. 

Charles  Pettit,  Esq. 

Frederick  Phile,  Esq. 

Samuel  Powell,  Esq. 

Mr.  William  Prichard,  6  copies. 

Mrs.  Prichard. 

Honorable  William  Paca,  Maryland,  6  copies. 

Archibald  Patison,  Esq.,  6  copies. 

Honorable  George  Plater,  6  copies. 

Mr.  John  Petty. 

Miss  Ann  Pinckney. 

Jonathan  Pinckney,  jun. 

Mr.  John  R.  Plater,  2  copies. 

Mr.  Thomas  Pryse. 

Mr.  Thomas  Purdy. 

Mr.  William  Page,  Virginia,  2  copies. 
Mr.  Henry  Peterson. 
Mr.  John  S.  Pleasants. 


16  LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS 

Mr.  Thomas  Porter,  Virginia. 
Mr.  R.  Prucott. 

Q 

Allen  Quynn,  Esq.,  Maryland,  4  copies. 
Mr.  Allen  Quynn,  jun. 

R 

Messrs.  Berry  and  Rogers,  New- York,  1 2  copies. 
Nicholas  G.  Rutgers,  Esq. 

Dr.  Joseph  Redman,  Philadelphia. 

Mr.  James  Rees. 

Mr.  A.  Reinagle. 

Mr.  John  Reed. 

Messrs.  H.  Rice  and  Co.,  6  copies. 

Mr.  Cropley  Rose. 

Mr.  John  Randall,  Maryland. 

Capt.  Philip  Reed. 

Mr.  Simon  Retalick. 

Christopher  Richmond,  Esq.,  6  copies. 

Mr.  Paul  Richards. 

Mr.  Samuel  Ridout. 

Mr.  James  Ringold. 

Mrs.  Ringold. 

Honorable  John  Rogers,  Esq. 

Edmund  Randolph,  Esq.,  Attorney -General  to  the  United  States, 

Virginia. 

Mr.  George  Richards,  6  copies. 
Mr.  A.  Robb. 
Mr.  J.  Roberdeau. 

John  Richards,  Esq.,  R.A.,  London. 
Mr.  John  Robinson. 

S 

Major  General  Baron  Stuben,  New- York. 
Mr.  Joseph  Sands. 


LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS  i 

Mr.  Henry  Saidler,  New-York. 
Mr.  John  Sherred. 
William  S.  Smith,  Esq. 
Mr.  George  Storer. 

General  Walter  Stewart,  Philadelphia. 

Mr.  Thomas  Seddon,  6  copies. 

Doctor  William  Shippen,  jun. 

William  S.  Smith,  Esq. 

Mr.  William  Spotswood,  6  copies. 

Mr.  Andrew  Spence. 

William  Steinsen,  Esq. 

Major  Jonathan  Sellman,  Maryland,  2  copies. 

Hugh  Sherwood,  Esq.,  2  copies. 

James  Shaw,  Esq.,  4  copies. 

Mr.  John  Shaw,  2  copies. 

Doctor  John  T.  Shaaf. 

Doctor  Clement  Smith. 

William  Smallwood,  Esq.,  late  Governor  of  Maryland,  6  copies. 

Mr.  Richard  Sprigg,  jun. 

Michael  Stone,  Esq.,  2  copies. 

Captain  John  Stewart. 

Doctor  James  Stewart,  4  copies. 

Mr.  David  Stewart,  2  copies. 

Mr.  David  Stewart,  of  Doden. 

Mr.  Robert  Sanford,  Virginia. 
Mr.  Charles  Simms. 
Mr.  P.  Southall. 

T 

Isaiah  Thomas,  Esq. ,  Massachusetts,  1 2  copies. 

Jonathan  Trumbull,  Esq.,  New- York. 

Mr.  Henry  Toland,  Philadelphia. 
Mr.  James  Thompson,  2  copies. 

John  Taylor,  Esq.,  Maryland. 


18  LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS 

Mr.  Benjamin  Taylor,  Maryland. 
John  Allen  Thomas,  Esq.,  6  copies. 
Mr.  Jasper  E.  Tilley. 
Mr.  Richard  Tootel. 
Captain  John  Trueman. 

Mr.  Jonah  Thompson,  Virginia. 
St.  George  Tucker,  Esq. 

W 

Mr.  Richard  Ward,  New- York. 
Honorable  Jeremiah  Wadsworth,  Esq.,  6  copies. 
Mr.  John  Wallace. 
Mr.  Prosper  Wetmore. 
General  S.  B.  Webb. 
Charles  Wilkes,  Esq. 

Mr.  George  Westcott,  Philadelphia. 

Honorable  James  Wilson,  Esq. 

Mr.  Seth  Willis. 

Mr.  William  Woodhouse,  6  copies. 

Mr.  Balthazer  Wouters. 

Mr.  James  Withy. 

Mr.  Nicholas  Watkins,  Maryland. 

Mrs.  Catharine  Wallace. 

Mr.  Richard  Wells. 

Mr.  William  Wells. 

Mr.  Joseph  Williams. 

Mr.  William  Whetcroft. 

Mr.  Burton  Whetcroft. 

Mrs.  Rebecca  White. 

Miss  Letitia  Whetcroft. 

John  White,  Esq.,  4  copies. 

Mrs.  Frances  Whetcroft:. 

Mr.  Brice  I.  Worthington. 

Mr.  John  G.  Worthington,  2  copies. 

Mr.  Henry  Woodcock,  2  copies. 


LIST  OF  SUBSCRIBERS  19 

Mr.  John  Wright,  Maryland,  3  copies. 

Mr.  William  Ward,  Virginia. 
Mr.  George  A.  Washington. 
Joseph  Westmore,  Esq. 
Mr.  Roger  West. 

Y 

Hamilton  Young,  Esq.,  New- York. 

Mr.  John  Young,  Philadelphia. 
Mr.  Vachel  Yates,  Maryland. 


PROLOGUE 

WRITTEN  BY  A  YOUNG  GENTLEMAN  OF  NEW-YORK,   AND  SPOKEN  BY 
MR.    WIGNELL 

EXULT,  each  patriot  heart !  —  this  night  is  shewn 

A  piece,  which  we  may  fairly  call  our  own ; 

Where  the  proud  titles  of  "  My  Lord  !  Your  Grace!  " 

To  humble  Mr.  and  plain  Sir  give  place. 

Our  Author  pictures  not  from  foreign  climes 

The  fashions  or  the  follies  of  the  times; 

But  has  confm'd  the  subject  of  his  work 

To  the  gay  scenes  —  the  circles  of  New-York. 

On  native  themes  his  Muse  displays  her  pow'rs; 

If  ours  the  faults,  the  virtues  too  are  ours. 

Why  should  our  thoughts  to  distant  countries  roam, 

When  each^refinemenl  may  be  found  at  home  ? 

Who  travels  now  to  ape  the  rich  or  great, 

To  deck  an  equipage  and  roll  in  state; 

To  court  the  graces,  or  to  dance  with  ease, 

Or  by  hypocrisy  to  strive  to  please  ? 

Our  free-born  ancestors  such  arts  despis'd  ; 

Genuine  sincerity  alone  they  priz'd  ; 

Their  minds,  with  honest  emulation  fir'd; 

To  solid  good  —  not  ornament  —  aspir'd; 

Or,  if  ambition  rous'd  a  bolder  flame, 

Stern  virtue  throve,  where  indolence  was  shame. 

But  modern  youths,  with  imitative  sense, 
Deem  taste  in  dress  the  proof  of  excellence  ; 
And  spurn  the  meanness  of  your  homespun  arts, 
Since  homespun  habits  would  obscure  their  parts ; 
Whilst  all,  which  aims  at  splendour  and  parade, 
Must  come  from  Europe,  and  be  ready  made. 


PROLOGUE  21 

Strange!  we  should  thus  our  native  worth  disclaim, 
And  check  the  progress  of  our  rising  fame. 
Yet  one,  whilst  imitation  bears  the  sway, 
Aspires  to  nobler  heights,  and  points  the  way. 
Be  rous'd,  my  friends  !  his  bold  example  view  ; 
Let  your  own  Bards  be  proud  to  copy  you  ! 
Should  rigid  critics  reprobate  our  play, 
At  least  the  patriotic  heart  will  say, 
"  Glorious  our  fall,  since  in  a  noble  cause. 
"  The  bold  attempt  alone  demands  applause." 
Still  may  the  wisdom  of  the  Comic  Muse 
Exalt  your  merits,  or  your  faults  accuse. 

But  think  not,  '  t  is  her  aim  to  be  severe  ; 

We  all  are  mortals,  and  as  mortals  err. 

If  candour  pleases,  we  are  truly  blest ; 

Vice  trembles,  when  compel!' d  to  stand  confess' d. 

Let  not  light  Censure  on  your  faults  offend, 

Which  aims  not  to  expose  them,  but  amend. 

Thus  does  our  Author  to  your  candour  trust ; 

Conscious,  the  free  are  generous,  as  just. 


CHARACTERS 


I*-* 

New-York 

Maryland 

Col.  MANLY 

Mr.  Henry 

Mr.  Hallam 

DIMPLE 

Mr.  Hallam 

Mr.  Harper 

^  VAN  ROUGH 

Mr.  Morris 

Mr.  Morris 

r 

JESSAMY 

Mr.  Harper 

Mr.  Eiddle 

JONATHAN 

Mr.  Wignell 

Mr.  Wignell 

CHARLOTTE 

Mrs.  Morris 

Mrs.  Morris 

MARIA 

Mrs.  Harper 

Mrs.  Harper 

LETITIA 

Mrs.  Kenna 

Mrs.   Williamson 

JENNY 

Miss  Tuke 

Miss  W.  Tuke 

SERVANTS 
SCENE,    NEW-YORK 


THE  CONTRAST 

ACT  I 

Scene,  an  ^Apartment  at  CHARLOTTE'S 
CHARLOTTE  and  LETITIA  discovered 

ELTITI  A.  And  so,  Charlotte,  you  really  think  the 
pocket'hoop  unbecoming. 
CHARLOTTE.  No,  I  don't  say  so.  It  may  be  very 
becoming  to  saunter  round  the  house  of  a  rainy  day; 
to  visit  my  grand'mamma,  or  to  go  to  Quakers'  meet' 
ing :  but  to  swim  in  a  minuet,  with  the  eyes  of  fifty 
well-dressed  beaux  upon  me,  to  trip  it  in  the  Mall, 
or  walk  on  the  battery,  give  me  the  luxurious,  jaunty, 
flowing,  bell'hoop.  It  would  have  delighted  you  to 
have  seen  me  the  last  evening,  my  charming  girl ! 
I  was  dangling  o'er  the  battery  with  Billy  Dimple ;  a 
knot  of  young  fellows  were  upon  the  platform;  as  I 
passed  them  I  faultered  with  one  of  the  most  bewitch' 
ing  false  steps  you  ever  saw,  and  then  recovered  my 
self  with  such  a  pretty  confusion,  flirting  my  hoop  to 
discover  a  jet  black  shoe  and  brilliant  buckle.  Gad  ! 
how  my  little  heart  thrilled  to  hear  the  confused  rap' 
tures  of —  "  Ttemme,  Jack,  what  a  delicate  foot !" 
"Ha!  Cj-eneral,  what  a  well-turned 


24  THE  CONTRAST 

LETITIA.  Fie!  fie!  Charlotte  [stopping  her  mouth], 

I  protest  you  are  quite  a  libertine. 

CHARLOTTE.  Why,  my  dear  little  prude,  are  we 
not  all  such  libertines  ?  Do  you  think,  when  I  sat  tor/ 
tured  two  hours  under  the  hands  of  my  friseur,  and 
an  hour  more  at  my  toilet,  that  I  had  any  thoughts 
of  my  aunt  Susan,  or  my  cousin  Betsey  ?  though 
they  are  both  allowed  to  be  critical  judges  of  dress. 

LETITIA.  Why,  who  should  we  dress  to  please, 
but  those  who  are  judges  of  its  merit? 

CHARLOTTE.  Why,  a  creature  who  does  not  know 
Bujfon  from  Sou/fee  —  Man !  —  my  Letitia — Man ! 
for  whom  we  dress,  walk,  dance,  talk,  lisp,  languish, 
and  smile.  Does  not  the  grave  Spectator  assure  us  that 
even  our  much  bepraised  diffidence,  modesty,  and 
blushes  are  all  directed  to  make  ourselves  good  wives 
and  mothers  as  fast  as  we  can?  Why,  I'll  undertake 
with  one  flirt  of  this  hoop  to  bring  more  beaux  to 
my  feet  in  one  week  than  the  grave  Maria,  and  her 
sentimental  circle,  can  do,  by  sighing  sentiment  till 
their  hairs  are  grey. 

LETITIA.  Well,  I  won't  argue  with  you ;  you  al/ 
ways  out/talk  me  ;  let  us  change  the  subject.  I  hear 
that  Mr.  Dimple  and  Maria  are  soon  to  be  married. 

CHARLOTTE.  You  hear  true.  I  was  consulted  in 
the  choice  of  the  wedding  clothes.  She  is  to  be  mar/ 
ried  in  a  delicate  white  sattin,  and  has  a  monstrous 


THE  CONTRAST  25 

pretty  brocaded  lutestring  for  the  second  day.  It  would ' 
have  done  you  good  to  have  seen  with  what  an  affected 
indifference  the  dear  sentimentalist  turned  over  a 
thousand  pretty  things,  just  as  if  her  heart  did  not 
palpitate  with  her  approaching  happiness,  and  at 
last  made  her  choice  and  arranged  her  dress  with  such 
apathy  as  if  she  did  not  know  that  plain  white  sattin 
and  a  simple  blond  lace  would  shew  her  clear  skin 
and  dark  hair  to  the  greatest  advantage. 

LETITIA.  But  they  say  her  indifference  to  dress, 
and  even  to  the  gentleman  himself,  is  not  entirely 
affected. 

CHARLOTTE.  How? 

LETITIA.  It  is  whispered  that  if  Maria  gives  her 
hand  to  Mr.  Dimple,  it  will  be  without  her  heart. 

CHARLOTTE.  Though  the  giving  the  heart  is  one 
of  the  last  of  all  laughable  considerations  in  the  mar/ 
riage  of  a  girl  of  spirit,  yet  I  should  like  to  hear  what 
antiquated  notions  the  dear  little  piece  of  old/fash' 
ioned  prudery  has  got  in  her  head. 

LETITIA.  Why,  you  know  that  old  Mr.  John/ 
Richard/  Robert /Jacob/Isaac/ Abraham/Cornelius  Van 
Dumpling,  Billy  Dimple's  father  (for  he  has  thought 
fit  to  soften  his  name,  as  well  as  manners,  during  his 
English  tour),  was  the  most  intimate  friend  of  Maria's 
father.  The  old  folks,  about  a  year  before  Mr.  Van 
Dumpling's  death,  proposed  this  match :  the  young 


26  THE  CONTRAST 

folks  were  accordingly  introduced,  and  told  they 
must  love  one  another.  Billy  was  then  a  good/na/ 
tured,  decent/dressing  young  fellow,  with  a  little 
dash  of  the  coxcomb,  such  as  our  young  fellows  of 
fortune  usually  have.  At  this  time,  I  really  believe 
she  thought  she  loved  him ;  and  had  they  then  been 
married,  I  doubt  not  they  might  have  jogged  on,  to 
the  end  of  the  chapter,  a  good  kind  of  a  sing/song 
lack/a/daysaical  life,  as  other  honest  married  folks  do. 

CHARLOTTE.  Why  did  they  not  then  marry  ? 

LETITIA.  Upon  the  death  of  his  father,  Billy  went 
to  England  to  seethe  world  and  rub  off  a  little  of  the 
patroonrust.  During  his  absence,  Maria,  like  a  good 
girl,  to  keep  herself  constant  to  her  nown  true 'love, 
avoided  company,  and  betook  herself,  for  her  amuse/ 
ment,  to  her  books,  and  her  dear  Billy's  letters.  But, 
alas !  how  many  ways  has  the  mischievous  demon  of 
inconstancy  of  stealing  into  a  woman's  heart !  Her 
love  was  destroyed  by  the  very  means  she  took  to  sup/ 
port  it. 

CHARLOTTE.  How  ?  -  -  Oh !  I  have  it — some 
likely  young  beau  found  the  way  to  her  study. 

LETITIA.  Be  patient,  Charlotte;  your  head  so  runs 
upon  beaux.  Why,  she  read  Sir  Charles  Grandison, 
Clarissa  Harlow,  Shenstone,  and  the  Sentimental 
Journey ;  and  between  whiles,  as  I  said,  Billy's  let/ 
ters.  But,  as  Jier  taste  improved,  her  love  declined. 


THE  CONTRAST  27 

The  contrast  was  so  striking  betwixt  the  good  sense 
of  her  books  and  the  flimsiness  of  her  love/letters, 
that  she  discovered  she  had  unthinkingly  engaged 
her  hand  without  her  heart ;  and  then  the  whole 
transaction,  managed  by  the  old  folks,  now  appeared 
so  unsentimental,  and  looked  so  like  bargaining  for 
a  bale  of  goods,  that  she  found  she  ought  to  have 
rejected,  according  to  every  rule  of  romance,  even 
the  man  of  her  choice,  if  imposed  upon  her  in  that 
manner.  Clary  Harlow  would  have  scorned  such  a 
match. 

CHARLOTTE.  Well,  how  was  it  on  Mr.  Dimple's 
return  ?  Did  he  meet  a  more  favourable  reception  than 
his  letters? 

LETITIA.  Much  the  same.  She  spoke  of  him  with 
respect  abroad,  and  with  contempt  in  her  closet.  She 
watched  his  conduct  and  conversation,  and  found 
that  he  had  by  travelling  acquired  the  wickedness  of 
Lovelace  without  his  wit,  and  the  politeness  of  Sir 
Charles  Grandison  without  his  generosity.  The  ruddy 
youth,  who  washed  his  face  at  the  cistern  every  morn/ 
ing,  and  swore  and  looked  eternal  love  and  constancy, 
was  now  metamorphosed  into  a  flippant,  palid,  polite 
beau,  who  devotes  the  morning  to  his  toilet,  reads  a 
few  pages  of  Chesterfield's  letters,  and  then  minces 
out,  to  put  the  infamous  principles  in  practice  upon 
every  woman  he  meets. 


• 


-ff 


28  THE  CONTRAST 

CHARLOTTE.  But,  if  she  is  so  apt  at  conjuring  up 
these  sentimental  bugbears,  why  does  she  not  discard 
him  at  once  ? 

LETITIA.  Why,  she  thinks  her  word  too  sacred  to 
be  trifled  with.  Besides,  her  father,  who  has  a  great 
respect  for  the  memory  of  his  deceased  friend,  is  ever 
telling  her  how  he  shall  renew  his  years  in  their 
union,  and  repeating  the  dying  injunctions  of  old 
Van  Dumpling. 

CHARLOTTE.  A  mighty  pretty  story!  And  so  you 
would  make  me  believe  that  the  sensible  Maria  would 
give  up  Dumpling  manor,  and  the  all/accomplished 
Dimple  as  a  husband,  for  the  absurd,  ridiculous  rea/ 
son,  forsooth,  because  she  despises  and  abhors  him. 
Just  as  if  a  lady  could  not  be  privileged  to  spend  a 
man's  fortune,  ride  in  his  carriage,  be  called  after  his 
name,  and  call  him  her  nown  dear  /ovee  when  she 
wants  money,  without  loving  and  respecting  the  great 
he'creature^  Oh !  my  dear  girl,  you  are  a  monstrous 
prude. 

LETITIA.  I  don't  say  what  I  would  do ;  I  only  inti/ 
mate  how  I  suppose  she  wishes  to  act. 

CHARLOTTE.  No,  no,  no!  A  fig  for  sentiment.  If 
she  breaks,  or  wishes  to  break,  with  Mr.  Dimple,  de/ 
pend  upon  it,  she  has  some  other  man  in  her  eye.  A 
woman  rarely  discards  one  lover  until  she  is  sure  of 
another.  Letitia  little  thinks  what  a  clue  I  have  to 


THE  CONTRAST  29 

Dimple's  conduct.  The  generous  man  submits  to  ren/ 
der  himself  disgusting  to  Maria,  in  order  that  she  may 
leave  him  at  liberty  to  address  me.  I  must  change  the 
subject.  \*Aside,  and  rings  a  bell. 

8nter  SERVANT 

Frank,  order  the  horses  to. Talking  of  mar/ 

riage,  did  you  hear  that  Sally  Bloomsbury  is  going  to 
be  married  next  week  to  Mr.  Indigo,  the  rich  Caro/ 
linian  ? 

LETITIA.  Sally  Bloomsbury  married! — why,  she 
is  not  yet  in  her  teens. 

CHARLOTTE.  I  do  not  know  how  that  is,  but  you 
may  depend  upon  it,  'tis  a  done  affair.  I  have  it  from  \ 
the  best  authority.  There  is  my  aunt  Wyerly's  Han/ 
nah.  You  know  Hannah ;  though  a  black,  she  is  a 
wench  that  was  never  caught  in  a  lie  in  her  life.  Now, 
Hannah  has  a  brother  who  courts  Sarah,  Mrs.  Catgut 
the  milliner's  girl,  and  she  told  Hannah's  brother,  and 
Hannah,  who,  as  I  said  before,  is  a  girl  of  undoubted 
veracity,  told  it  directly  to  me,  that  Mrs.  Catgut  was 
making  a  new  cap  for  Miss  Bloomsbury,  which,  as  it 
was  very  dressy,  it  is  very  probable  is  designed  for  a 
wedding  cap.  Now,  as  she  is  to  be  married,  who  can 
it  be  but  to  Mr.  Indigo  ?  Why,  there  is  no  other 
gentleman  that  visits  at  her  papa's. 

LETITIA.  Say  not  a  word  more,  Charlotte.  Your 


30  THE  CONTRAST 

intelligence  is  so  direct  and  well  grounded,  it  is  al/ 
most  a  pity  that  it  is  not  a  piece  of  scandal. 

CHARLOTTE.  Oh!  I  am  the  pink  of  prudence. 
Though  I  cannot  charge  myself  with  ever  having 
discredited  a  tea/party  by  my  silence,  yet  I  take  care 
never  to  report  anything  of  my  acquaintance,  espe/ 
cially  if  it  is  to  their  credit, — discredit,  I  mean, — 
until  I  have  searched  to  the  bottom  of  it.  It  is  true, 
there  is  infinite  pleasure  in  this  charitable  pursuit. 
Oh!  how  delicious  to  go  and  condole  with  the  friends 
of  some  backsliding  sister,  or  to  retire  with  some  old 
dowager  or  maiden  aunt  of  the  family,  who  love  scan/ 
dal  so  well  that  they  cannot  forbear  gratifying  their 
appetite  at  the  expense  of  the  reputation  of  their  near/ 
est  relations !  And  then  to  return  full  fraught  with  a 
rich  collection  of  circumstances,  to  retail  to  the  next 
circle  of  our  acquaintance  under  the  strongest  injunc/ 
lions  of  secrecy, — ha,  ha,  ha! — interlarding  the 
melancholy  tale  with  so  many  doleful  shakes  of  the 
head,  and  more  doleful"  Ah!  who  would  have  thought 
it!  so  amiable,  so  prudent  a  young  lady,  as  we  all 
thought  her ,  what  a  monstrous  pity!  well,  I  have  noth/ 
ing  to  charge  myself  with ;  I  acted  the  part  of  a  friend, 
I  warned  her  of  the  principles  of  that  rake,  I  told  her 
what  would  be  the  consequence ;  I  told  her  so,  I  told 
her  so." — Ha,  ha,  ha! 

LETITIA.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Well,  but,  Charlotte,  you 


THE  CONTRAST  31 

don't  tell  me  what  you  think  of  Miss  Bloomsbury's 
match. 

CHARLOTTE.  Think!  why  I  think  it  is  probable 
she  cried  for  a  plaything,  and  they  have  given  her  a 
husband.  Well,  well,  well,  the  puling  chit  shall  not 
be  deprived  of  her  plaything :  'tis  only  exchanging 
London  dolls  for  American  babies.  —  Apropos,  of 
babies,  have  you  heard  what  Mrs.  AfFable's  high' 
flying  notions  of  delicacy  have  come  to  ? 

LETITIA.  Who,  she  that  was  Miss  Lovely  ? 

CHARLOTTE.  The  same  ;  she  married  Bob  Affable 
of  Schenectady.  Don't  you  remember  ? 

Enter  SERVANT 

SERVANT.  Madam,  the  carriage  is  ready. 

LETITIA.  Shall  we  go  to  the  stores  first,  or  visit' 
ing? 

CHARLOTTE.  I  should  think  it  rather  too  early  to 
visit,  especially  Mrs.  Prim ;  you  know  she  is  so  par' 
ticular. 

LETITIA.  Well,  but  what  of  Mrs.  Affable  ? 

CHARLOTTE.  Oh,  I'll  tell  you  as  we  go;  come, 
come,  let  us  hasten.  I  hear  Mrs.  Catgut  has  some  of 
the  prettiest  caps  arrived  you  ever  saw.  I  shall  die  if  I 
have  not  the  first  sight  of  them.  \_£xeunt 


32  THE  CONTRAST 

SCENE  II 

<iAT(opm  in  VAN  ROUGH'S  House 
MARIA  sitting  disconsolate  at  a  Table,  with  Books,  &V. 

SONG 

I 

The  sun  sets  in  night,  and  the  stars  shun  the  day; 
But  glory  remains  when  their  lights  fade  away  ! 
.    Begin,  ye  tormentors  !  your  threats  are  in  vain, 
For  the  son  of  Alknomook  shall  never  complain. 

II 

Remember  the  arrows  he  shot  from  his  bow  ; 
Remember  your  chiefs  by  his  hatchet  laid  low  : 
Why  so  slow  ?  —  do  you  wait  till  I  shrink  from  the  pain? 
No  —  the  son  of  Alknomook  will  never  complain. 

Ill    • 

Remember  the  wood  where  in  ambush  we  lay, 
And  the  scalps  which  we  bore  from  your  nation  away  : 
Now  the  flame  rises  fast,  you  exult  in  my  pain  ; 
But  the  son  of  Alknomook  can  never  complain. 

IV 

I  go  to  the  land  where  my  father  is  gone; 

His  ghost  shall  rejoice  in  the  fame  of  his  son  : 

Death  comes  like  a  friend,  he  relieves  me  from  pain  ; 

And  thy  son,  Oh  Alknomook!  has  scorn'  d  to  complain. 

There  is  something  in  this  song  which  ever  calls 
ib^    >      forth  my  affections.  The  manly  virtue  of  courage, 
that  fortitude  which  steels  the  heart  against  the  keen/ 
est  misfortunes,  which  interweaves  the  laurel  of  glory 
amidst  the  instruments  of  torture  and  death,  displays 

I  " 


**> 


THE  CONTRAST  33 

something  so  noble,  so  exalted,  that  in  despite  of  the 
prejudices  of  education  I  cannot  but  admire  it,  even 
in  a  savage.  The  prepossession  which  our  sex  is  sup/ 
posed  to  entertain  for  the  character  of  a  soldier  is,  I 
know,  a  standing  piece  of  raillery  among  the  wits.  A 
cockade,  a  lapell'd  coat,  and  a  feather,  they  will  tell 
you,  are  irresistible  by  a  female  heart.  Let  it  be  so. 
Who  is  it  that  considers  the  helpless  situation  of  our 
sex,  that  does  not  see  that  we  each  moment  stand  in 
need  of  a  protector,  and  that  a  brave  one  too  ?  Formed 
of  the  more  delicate  materials  of  nature,  endowed 
only  with  the  softer  passions,  incapable,  from  our 
ignorance  of  the  world,  to  guard  against  the  wiles  of 
mankind,  our  security  for  happiness  often  depends 
upon  their  generosity  and  courage.  Alas!  how  little 
of  the  former  do  we  find!  How  inconsistent!  that 
man  should  be  leagued  to  destroy  that  honour  upon 
which  solely  rests  his  respect  and  esteem.  Ten  thou' 
sand  temptations  allure  us,  ten  thousand  passions  be/ 
tray  us;  yet  the  smallest  deviation  from  the  path  of 
rectitude  is  followed  by  the  contempt  and  insult  of 
man,  and  the  more  'remorseless  pity  of  woman ;  years 
of  penitence  and  tears  cannot  wash  away  the  stain, 
nor  a  life  of  virtue  obliterate  its  remembrance.  Repu/ 
tation  is  the  life  of  woman;  yet  courage  to  protect 
it  is  masculine  and  disgusting ;  and  the  only  safe  asy/ 
lum  a  woman  of  delicacy  can  find  is  in  the  arms  of  a 


34  THE  CONTRAST 

man  of  honour.  How  naturally,  then,  should  we  love 
the  brave  and  the  generous;  how  gratefully  should  we 
bless  the  arm  raised  for  our  protection,  when  nervd 
by  virtue  and  directed  by  honour !  Heaven  grant  that 
the  man  with  whom  I  may  be  connected —  may  be 
connected !  Whither  has  my  imagination  transported 
me — whither  does  it  now  lead  me?  Am  I  not  in/ 
dissolubly  engaged,  "by  every  obligation  of  honour 
which  my  own  consent  and  my  father's  approbation 
can  give,"  to  a  man  who  can  never  share  my  affec' 
tions,  and  whom  a  few  days  hence  it  will  be  criminal  for 
me  to  disapprove — to  disapprove!  would  to  heaven 
that  were  all  —  to  despise.  For,  can  the  most  frivo/ 
lous  manners,  actuated  by  the  most  depraved  heart, 
meet,  or  merit,  anything  but  contempt  from  every 
woman  of  delicacy  and  sentiment  ? 

[VAN  ROUGH  without.  Mary !] 
Ha !  my  father's  voice — Sir ! 

% 

8nter  VAN  ROUGH 

VAN  ROUGH.  What,  Mary,  always  singing  doleful 
ditties,  and  moping  over  these  plaguy  books. 

MARIA.  I  hope,  Sir,  that  it  is  not  criminal  to  iny 
prove  my  mind  with  books,  or  to  divert  my  melan/ 
choly  with  singing,  at  my  leisure  hours. 

VAN  ROUGH.  Why,  I  don't  know  that,  child ;  I 
don't  know  that.  They  us'd  to  say,  when  I  was  a 


THE  CONTRAST  35 

young  man,  that  if  a  woman  knew  how  to  make  a  \ 
pudding,  and  to  keep  herself  out  of  fire  and  water  J 
she  knew  enough  for  a  wife.  Now,  what  good  have 
these  books  done  you  ?  have  they  not  made  you  mel/ 
ancholy  ?  as  you  call  it.  Pray,  what  right  has  a  girl 
of  your  age  to  be  in  the  dumps?  haven't  you  every 
thing  your  heart  can  wish ;  an't  you  going  to  be  mar/ 
ried  to  a  young  man  of  great  fortune ;  an't  you  going 
to  have  the  quit /rent  of  twenty  miles  square? 

MARIA.  One/hundredth  part  of  the  land,  and  a 
lease  for  life  of  the  heart  of  a  man  I  could  love,  would 
satisfy  me. 

VAN  ROUGH.  Pho,  pho,  pho!  child;  nonsense, 
downright  nonsense,  child.  This  comes  of  your  read/ 
ing  your  story /books ;  your  Charles  Grandisons,  your 
Sentimental  Journals,  and  your  Robinson  Crusoes, 


and  such  other  trumpery.  No,  no,  no !  child ;  it  is\  *  , 
money  makes  the  mare  go ;  keep  your  eye  upon  the   L- 

main  rVicmrf*    A/Tarv 


main  chance,  Mary. 

rr 77 •  0-       •      •    j      j  • 

MARIA.  Marriage,  Sir,  is,  indeed,  a  very  serious 
affair. 

VAN  ROUGH.  You  are  right,  child ;  you  are  right. 
I  am  sure  I  found  it  so,  to  my  cost. 

MARIA.  I  mean,  Sir,  that  as  marriage  is  a  portion 
for  life,  and  so  intimately  involves  our  happiness,  we 
cannot  be  too  considerate  in  the  choice  of  our  com/ 
panion. 


36  THE  CONTRAST 

VAN  ROUGH.  Right,  child ;  very  right.  A  young 
woman  should  be  very  sober  when  she  is  making  her 
choice,  but  when  she  has  once  made  it,  as  you  have 
done,  I  don't  see  why  she  should  not  be  as  merry  as 
a  grig;  I  am  sure  she  has  reason  enough  to  be  so. 
Solomon  says  that  "there  is  a  time  to  laugh,  and  a 
time  to  weep."  Now,  a  time  for  a  young  woman  to 
laugh  is  when  she  has  made  sure  of  a  good  rich  hus' 
band.  Now,  a  time  to  cry,  according  to  you,  Mary, 
is  when  she  is  making  choice  of  him ;  but  I  should 
think  that  a  young  woman's  time  to  cry  was  when 
she  despaired  of  getting  one.  Why,  there  was  your 
mother,  now:  to  be  sure,  whenlpopp'd  the  question 
to  her  she  did  look  a  little  silly ;  but  when  she  had 
once  looked  down  on  her  apron-strings,  as  all  modest 
young  women  us'd  to  do,  and  drawled  out  ye-s,  she 
was  as  brisk  and  as  merry  as  a  bee. 

MARIA.  My  honoured  mother,  Sir,  had  no  mo/ 
tive  to  melancholy;  she  married  the  man  of  her 
choice. 

VAN  ROUGH.  The  man  of  her  choice!  And  pray, 
Mary,  an't  you  going  to  marry  the  man  of  your 
choice  —  what  trumpery  notion  is  this?  It  is  these 
vile  books  [throwing  them  away}.  Pd  have  you  to 
know,  Mary,  if  you  won't  make  young  Van  Dump/ 
ling  the  man  of  your  choice,  you  shall  marry  him  as 
man  of  my  choice. 


THE  CONTRAST  37 

MARIA.  You  terrify  me,  Sir.  Indeed,  Sir,  I  am  all 
submission.  My  will  is  yours. 

VAN  ROUGH.  Why,  that  is  the  way  your  mother 
us'd  to  talk.  "My  will  is  yours,  my  dear  Mr.  Van 
Rough,  my  will  is  yours  " ;  but  she  took  special  care 
to  have  her  own  way,  though,  for  all  that. 

MARIA.  Do  not  reflect  upon  my  mother's  mem/ 
ory,  Sir 

VAN  ROUGH.  Why  not,  Mary,  why  not  ?  She  kept 
me  from  speaking  my  mind  all  her  life,  and  do  you 
think  she  shall  henpeck  me  now  she  is  dead  too  ? ; 
Come,  come ;  don't  go  to  sniveling ;  be  a  good  girl, 
and  mind  the  main  chance,  I'll  see  you  well  settled 
in  the  world. 

MARIA.  I  do  not  doubt  your  love,  Sir,  and  it  is  my 
duty  to  obey  you.  I  will  endeavour  to  make  my  duty 
and  inclination  go  hand  in  hand. 

VAN  ROUGH.  Well,  well,  Mary;  do  you  be  a  good 
girl,  mind  the  main  chance,  and  never  mind  inclina/ 
tion.  Why,  do  you  know  that  I  have  been  down  in 
the  cellar  this  very  morning  to  examine  a  pipe  of 
Madeira  which  I  purchased  the  week  you  were  born, 
and  mean  to  tap  on  your  wedding  day  ?  —  That  pipe 
cost  me  fifty  pounds  sterling.  It  was  well  worth  sixty 
pounds ;  but  I  overreach 'd  Ben  Bulkhead,  the  super/ 
cargo.  I'll  tell  you  the  whole  story.  You  must  know 
that 


38  THE  CONTRAST 

Enter  SERVANT 

SERVANT.  Sir,  Mr.  Transfer,  thebroker,  is  below. 

[£*//. 

VAN  ROUGH.  Well,  Mary,  I  must  go.  Remember, 
and  be  a  good  girl,  and  mind  the  main  chance. 

[fin?/. 

MARIA  [alone].  How  deplorable  is  my  situation! 
How  distressing  for  a  daughter  to  find  her  heart 
militating  with  her  filial  duty !  I  know  my  father 
loves  me  tenderly ;  why  then  do  I  reluctantly  obey 
him  ?  Heaven  knows !  with  what  reluctance  I  should 
oppose  the  will  of  a  parent,  or  set  an  example  of  filial 
disobedience ;  at  a  parent's  command,  I  could  wed 
awkwardness  and  deformity.  Were  the  heart  of  my 
husband  good,  I  would  so  magnify  his  good  qual/ 
ities  with  the  eye  of  conjugal  affection,  that  the  de/ 
fects  of  his  person  and  manners  should  be  lost  in  the 
emanation  of  his  virtues.  At  a  father's  command,  I 
could  embrace  poverty.  Were  the  poor  man  my  hus' 
band,  I  would  learn  resignation  to  my  lot ;  I  would 
enliven  our  frugal  meal  with  good  humour,  and 
chase  away  misfortune  from  our  cottage  with  a 
smile.  At  a  father's  command,  I  could  almost  sub/ 
mit  to  what  every  female  heart  knows  to  be  the  most 
mortifying,  to  marry  a  weak  man,  and  blush  at  my 
husband's  folly  in  every  company  I  visited.  But  to 
marry  al  depraved  wretch,  whose  only  virtue  is  a 


THE  CONTRAST  39 

polished  exterior ;  who  is  actuated  by  the  unmanly 
ambition  of  conquering  the  defenceless ;  whose  heart, 
insensible  to  the  emotions  of  patriotism,  dilates  at  the 
plaudits  of  every  unthinking  girl ;  whose  laurels  are 
the  sighs  and  tears  of  the  miserable  victims  of  his 
specious  behaviour, — can  he,  who  has  no  regard 
for  the  peace  and  happiness  of  other  families,  ever 
have  a  due  regard  for  the  peace  and  happiness  of 
his  own  ?  Would  to  heaven  that  my  father  were  not 
so  hasty  in  his  temper  ?  Surely,  if  I  were  to  state  my 
reasons  for  declining  this  match,  he  would  not  compel 
me  to  marry  a  man,  whom,  though  my  lips  may  sol/ 
emnly  promise  to  honour,  I  find  my  heart  must  ever 
despise.  [€xit. 


END    OF  THE  FIRST  ACT 


ACT  II.   SCENE  I 
£nter  CHARLOTTE  and  LETITIA 
p  CHARLOTTE  [at  entering}.  Betty,  take  those  things 
out  of  the  carriage  and  carry  them  to  my  chamber ; 
see  that  you  don't  tumble  them.  My  dear,  I  protest, 
I  think  it  was  the  homeliest  of  the  whole.  I  declare 
I  was  almost  tempted  to  return  and  change  it. 

LETITIA.  Why  would  you  take  it  ? 

CHARLOTTE.  Didn't  Mrs.  Catgut  say  it  was  the 
most  fashionable? 

LETITIA.  But,  my  dear,  it  will  never  fit  beconv 
ingly  on  you. 

CHARLOTTE.  I  know  that ;  but  did  not  you  hear 
Mrs.  Catgut  say  it  was  fashionable  ? 

LETITIA.  Did  you  see  that  sweet  airy  cap  with 
the  white  sprig  ? 

CHARLOTTE.  Yes,  and  I  longed  to  take  it ;  but,  my 
dear,  what  could  I  do  ?  Did  not  Mrs.  Catgut  say  it 
was  the  most  fashionable  ;  and  if  I  had  not  taken  it, 
was  not  that  awkward  gawky,  Sally  Slender,  ready 
to  purchase  it  immediately  ? 

LETITIA.  Did  you  observe  how  she  tumbled  over 
the  things  at  the  next  shop,  and  then  went  off  with/ 
out  purchasing  anything,  nor  even  thanking  the  poor 
man  for  his  trouble  ?  But,  of  all  the  awkward  crea/ 


THE  CONTRAST  41 

tures,  did  you  see  Miss  Blouze  endeavouring  to  thrust 
her  unmerciful  arm  into  those  small  kid  gloves  ? 

CHARLOTTE.  Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha ! 

LETITIA.  Then  did  you  take  notice  with  what  an 
affected  warmth  of  friendship  she  and  Miss  Wasp 
met  ?  when  all  their  acquaintance  know  how  much 
pleasure  they  take  in  abusing  each  other  in  every 
company. 

CHARLOTTE.  Lud!  Letitia,  is  that  so  extraordi/ 
nary  ?  Why,  my  dear,  I  hope  you  are  not  going  to  turn 
sentimentalist.  Scandal,  you  know,  is  but  amusing 
ourselves  with  the  faults,  foibles,  follies,  and  reputa/ 
tions  of  our  friends ;  indeed,  I  don't  know  why  we 
should  have  friends,  if  we  are  not  at  liberty  to  make 
use  of  them.  But  no  person  is  so  ignorant  of  the 
world  as  to  suppose,  because  I  amuse  myself  with  a 
lady's  faults,  that  I  am  obliged  to  quarrel  with  her 
person  every  time  we  meet :  believe  me,  my  dear,  we 
should  have  very  few  acquaintance  at  that  rate. 

SERVANT  enters  and  delivers  a  letter  to  CHARLOTTE, 
and [Cxit. 

CHARLOTTE.  You'll  excuse  me,  my  dear. 

[Opens  and  reads  to  herself. 
LETITIA.  Oh,  quite  excusable. 
CHARLOTTE.  As  I  hope  to  be  married,  my  brother 
Henry  is  in  the  city. 


42  THE  CONTRAST 

LETITIA.  What,  your  brother,  ColoneL Manly? 

CHARLOTTE.  Yes,  my  dear ;  the  only  brother  I  have 
in  the  world. 

LETITIA.  Was  he  never  in  this  city  ? 

CHARLOTTE.  Never  nearer  than  Harlem  Heights, 
where  he  lay  with  his  regiment. 

LETITIA.  What  sort  of  a  being  is  this  brother  of 
yours  ?  If  he  is  as  chatty,  as  pretty,  as  sprightly  as  you, 
half  the  belles  in  the  city  will  be  pulling  caps  for 
him. 

CHARLOTTE.  My  brother  is  the  very  counterpart 
and  reverse  of  me :  I  am  gay,  he  is  grave  ;  I  am  airy, 
he  is  solid ;  I  am  ever  selecting  the  most  pleasing  ob/ 
jects  for  my  laughter,  he  has  a  tear  for  every  pitiful 
one.  And  thus,  whilst  he  is  plucking  the  briars  and 
thorns  from  the  path  of  the  unfortunate,  I  am  strew/ 
ing  my  own  path  with  roses. 

LETITIA.  My  sweet  friend,  not  quite  so  poetical, 
and  a  little  more  particular. 

CHARLOTTE.  Hands  off,  Letitia.  I  feel  the  rage  of 
simile  upon  me ;  I  can't  talk  to  you  in  any  other  way. 
My  brother  has  a  heart  replete  with  the  noblest  sen/ 
timents,  but  then,  it  is  like  —  it  is  like — Oh!  you 
provoking  girl,  you  have  deranged  all  my  ideas— 
it  is  like  —  Oh!  I  have  it  —  his  heart  is  like  an  old 
maiden  lady's  bandbox ;  it  contains  many  costly  things, 
arranged  with  the  most  scrupulous  nicety,  yet  the 


THE  CONTRAST  43 

misfortune  is  that  they  are  too  delicate,  costly,  and 

^••a***111^™ *"*BWI^-^  r 

antiquated  for  common  use. 

LETITIA.  By  what  I  can  pick  out  of  your  flowery 
description,  your  brother  is  no  beau. 

CHARLOTTE.  No,  indeed;  he  makes  no  pretension 
to  the  character.  He'd  ride,  or  rather  fly,  an  hundred 
miles  to  relieve  a  distressed  object,  or  to  do  a  gallant 
act  in  the  service  of  his  country ;  but  should  you  drop 
your  fan  or  bouquet  in  his  presence,  it  is  ten  to  one 
that  some  beau  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room  would 
have  the  honour  of  presenting  it  to  you  before  he 
had  observed  that  it  fell.  I'll  tell  you  one  of  hisjanti/ 
quated,  anti/gallant  notions.  He  said  once  in  my  pres' 
ence,  in  a  room  foil  of  company,  —  would  you  be/ 
lieve  it  ?  — in  a  large  circle  of  ladies,  that  the  best  evi/ 
dence  a  gentleman  could  give  a  young  lady  of  his  re/ 
spect  and  affection  was  to  endeavour  in  a  friendly  man/ 1 1 
ner  to  rectify  her  foibles.  I  protest  I  was  crimson  to  * 
the  eyes,  upon  reflecting  that  I  was  known  as  his  sis/ 
ter. 

LETITIA.  Insupportable  creature !  tell  a  lady  of  her 
faults !  if  he  is  so  grave,  I  fear  I  have  no  chance  of 
captivating  him. 

CHARLOTTE.  His  conversation  is  like  a  rich,  old/ 
fashioned  brocade, — it  will  stand  alone ;  every  sen/ 
tence  is  a  sentiment.  Now  you  may  judge  what  a  time 
I  had  with  him,  in  my  twelve  months'  visit  to  my 


44  THE  CONTRAST 

father.  He  read  me  such  lectures,  out  of  pure  broth/ 
erly  affection,  against  the  extremes  of  fashion,  dress, 
flirting,  and  coquetry,  and  all  the  other  dear  things 
which  he  knows  I  doat  upon,  that  I  protest  his  con/ 
versation  made  me  as  melancholy  as  if  I  had  been  at 
church ;  and  heaven  knows,  though  I  never  prayed 
to  go  there  but  on  one  occasion,  yet  I  would  have  ex/ 
changed  his  conversation  for  a  psalm  and  a  sermon. 
Church  is  rather  melancholy,  to  be  sure ;  but  then  I 
can  ogle  the  beaux,  and  be  regaled  with  "  here  end/ 
eth  the  first  lesson,"  but  his  brotherly  here,  you  would 
think  had  no  end.  You  captivate  him !  Why,  my  dear, 
he  would  as  soon  fall  in  love  with  a  box  of  Italian  flow/ 
ers.  There  is  Maria,  now,  if  she  were  not  engaged, 
she  might  do  something.  Oh !  how  I  should  like  to 
see  that  pair  of  pensorosos  together,  looking  as  grave 
as  two  sailors'  wives  of  a  stormy  night,  with  a  flow  of 
sentiment  meandering  through  their  conversation 
like  purling  streams  in  modern  poetry. 
.  LETITIA.  Oh !  my  dear  fanciful  - 

CHARLOTTE.  Hush!  I  hear  some  person  corning 
through  the  entry. 

Enter  SERVANT 

SERVANT.  Madam,  there's  a  gentleman  below  who 
calls  himself  Colonel  Manly ;  do  you  chuse  to  be  at 
home? 


THE  CONTRAST  45 

CHARLOTTE.  Shew  him  in.  [Exit  Servant.]  Now 
for  a  sober  face. 

Enter  COLONEL  MANLY 

MANLY.  My  dear  Charlotte,  I  am  happy  that  I 
once  more  enfold  you  within  the  arms  of  fraternal 
affection.  I  know  you  are  going  to  ask  (amiable  im/ 
patience !)  how  our  parents  do,  —  the  venerable  pair 
transmit  you  their  blessing  by  me.  They  totter  on 
the  verge  of  a  well/spent  life,  and  wish  only  to  see 
their  children  settled  in  the  world,  to  depart  in 
peace. 

CHARLOTTE.  I  am  very  happy  to  hear  that  they  are 
well.  [Coolly.]  Brother,  will  you  give  me  leave  to  in/ 
troduce  you  to  our  uncle's  ward,  one  of  my  most  in/ 
timate  friends? 

MANLY  [saluting  Letitia].  I  ought  to  regard  your 
friends  as  my  own. 

CHARLOTTE.  Come,  Letitia,  do  give  us  a  little  dash 
of  your  vivacity ;  my  brother  is  so  sentimental  and 
so  grave,  that  I  protest  he'll  give  us  the  vapours. 

MANLY.  Though  sentiment  and  gravity,  I  know, 
are  banished  the  polite  world,  yet  I  hoped  they  might 
find  some  countenance  in  the  meeting  of  such  near 
connections  as  brother  and  sister. 

CHARLOTTE.  Positively,  brother,  if  you  go  one  step 
further  in  this  strain,  you  will  set  me  crying,  and  that, 


46  THE  CONTRAST 

you  know,  would  spoil  my  eyes;  and  then  I  should 
never  get  the  husband  which  our  good  papa  and  mam/ 
ma  have  so  kindly  wished  me — never  be  established 
in  the  world. 

MANLY.  Forgive  me,  my  sister,  —  I  am  no  enemy 
to  mirth  ;  I  love  your  sprightliness ;  and  I  hope  it  will 
one  day  enliven  the  hours  of  some  worthy  man ;  but 
when  I  mention  the  respectable  authors  of  my  ex/ 
istence,  —  the  cherishers  and  protectors  of  my  help/ 
less  infancy,  whose  heartsglow  with  such  fondness  and 
attachment  that  they  would  willingly  lay  down  their 
lives  for  my  welfare, —  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  am 
so  unfashionable  as  to  speak  of  them  with  some  de/ 
gree  of  respect  and  reverence. 

CHARLOTTE.  Well,  well,  brother;  if  you  won't  be 
gay,  we'll  not  differ;  I  will  be  as  grave  as  you  wish. 
\^/fJfects  gravity.]  And  so,  brother,  you  have  come 
to  the  city  to  exchange  some  of  your  commutation 
notes  for  a  little  pleasure? 

MANLY.  Indeed  you  are  mistaken;  my  errand  is 
not  of  amusement,  but  business ;  and  as  I  neither  drink 
nor  game,  my  expenses  will  be  so  trivial,  I  shall  have 
no  occasion  to  sell  my  notes. 

CHARLOTTE.  Then  you  won't  have  occasion  to 
do  a  very  good  thing.  Why,  here  was  the  Vermont 
General — he  came  down  some  time  since,  sold  all  his 
musty  notes  at  one  stroke,  and  then  laid  the  cash  out 


THE  CONTRAST  47 

in  trinkets  for  his  dear  Fanny.  I  want  a  dozen  pretty 
things  myself;  have  you  got  the  notes  with  you? 

MANLY.  I  shall  be  ever  willing  to  contribute,  as  far 
as  it  is  in  my  power,  to  adorn  or  in  any  way  to  please 
my  sister ;  yet  I  hope  I  shall  never  be  obliged  for  this 
to  sell  my  notes.  I  may  be  romantic,  but  I  preserve 
them  as  a  sacred  deposit.  Their  full  amount  is  justly 
due  to  me,  but  as  embarrassments,  the  natural  con/ 
sequences  of  a  long  war,  disable  my  country  from 
supporting  its  credit,  I  shall  wait  with  patience  until 
it  is  rich  enough  to  discharge  them.  If  that  is  not  in 
my  day,  they  shall  be  transmitted  as  an  honourable 
certificate  to  posterity,  that  I  have  humbly  imitated 
our  illustrious  WASHINGTON,  in  having  exposed  my 
health  and  life  in  the  service  of  my  country,  without 
reaping  any  other  reward  than  the  glory  of  conquer/ 
ing  in  so  arduous  a  contest. 

CHARLOTTE.  Well  said  heroics.  Why,  my  dear 
Henry,  you  have  such  a  lofty  way  of  saying  things, 
that  I  protest  I  almost  tremble  at  the  thought  of  in/ 
troducing  you  to  the  polite  circles  in  the  city.  The 
belles  would  think  you  were  a  player  run  mad,  with 
your  head  filled  with  old  scraps  of  tragedy;  and  as  to 
the  beaux,  they  might  admire,  because  they  would 
not  understand  you.  But,  however,  I  must,  I  believe, 
introduce  you  to  two  or  three  ladies  of  my  acquaint/ 
ance. 


48  THE  CONTRAST 

LETITIA.  And  that  will  make  him  acquainted  with 
thirty  or  forty  beaux. 

CHARLOTTE.  Oh!  brother,  you  don't  know  what 
a  fund  of  happiness  you  have  in  store. 

MANLY.  I  fear,  sister,  I  have  not  refinement  suf' 
ficient  to  enjoy  it. 

CHARLOTTE.  Oh!  you  cannot  fail  being  pleased. 

LETITIA.  Our  ladies  are  so  delicate  and  dressy. 

CHARLOTTE.  And  our  beaux  so  dressy  and  delicate. 

LETITIA.  Our  ladies  chat  and  flirt  so  agreeably. 

CHARLOTTE.  And  our  beaux  simper  and  bow  so 
gracefully. 

LETITIA.  With  their  hair  so  trim  and  neat. 

CHARLOTTE.  And  their  faces  so  soft  and  sleek. 

LETITIA.  Their  buckles  so  tonish  and  bright. 

U CHARLOTTE.  And  their  hands  so  slender  and 
lite. 

LETITIA.  I  vow,  Charlotte,  we  are  quite  poetical. 

CHARLOTTE.  And  then,  brother,  the  faces  of  the 
beaux  are  of  such  a  lily /white  hue !  None  of  that  hor' 
rid  robustness  of  constitution,  that  vulgar  cornfed 
glow  of  health,  which  can  only  serve  to  alarm  an  un' 
married  lady  with  apprehension,  and  prove  a  melan' 
choly  memento  to  a  married  one,  that  she  can  never 
hope  for  the  happiness  of  being  a  widow.  I  will  say 
this  to  the  credit  of  our  city  beaux,  that  such  is  the 
delicacy  of  their  complexion,  dress,  and  address,  that, 


THE  CONTRAST  49  ' 

even  had  I  no  reliance  upon  the  honour  of  the  dear 
Adonises,  I  would  trust  myself  in  any  possible  situa/ 
tion  with  them,  without  the  least  apprehensions  of 
rudeness. 

MANLY.  Sister  Charlotte ! 

CHARLOTTE.  Now,  now,  now,  brother  [interrupt' 
ing  bim\,  now  don't  go  to  spoil  my  mirth  with  a  dash 
of  your  gravity;  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  I  am  in  tip/ 
top  spirits.  Oh !  that  you  could  be  with  us  at  a  little 
snug  party.  There  is  Billy  Simper,  Jack  Chaffe,  and 
Colonel  Van  Titter,  Miss  Promenade,  and  the  two 
Miss  Tambours,  sometimes  make  a  party,  with  some 
other  ladies,  in  a  side/box  at  the  play.  Everything  is 
conducted  with  such  decorum.  First  we  bow  round 
to  the  company  in  general,  then  to  each  one  in  par/ 
ticular,  then  we  have  so  many  inquiries  after  each 
other's  health,  and  we  are  so  happy  to  meet  each 
other,  and  it  is  so  many  ages  since  we  last  had  that 
pleasure,  and  if  a  married  lady  is  in  company,  we 
have  such  a  sweet  dissertation  upon  her  son  Bobby's 
chin/cough ;  then  the  curtain  rises,  then  our  sensi/ 
bility  is  all  awake,  and  then,  by  the  mere  force  of 
apprehension,  we  torture  some  harmless  expression 
into  a  double  meaning,  which  the  poor  author  never 
dreamt  of,  and  then  we  have  recourse  to  our  fans, 
and  then  we  blush,  and  then  the  gentlemen  jog  one 
another,  peep  under  the  fan,  and  make  the  prettiest 


50  THE  CONTRAST 

remarks ;  and  then  we  giggle  and  they  simper,  and 
they  giggle  and  we  simper,  and  then  the  curtain 
drops,  and  then  for  nuts  and  oranges,  and  then  we 
bow,  and  it's  pray,  Ma'am,  take  it,  and  pray,  Sir,  keep 
it,  and  oh !  not  for  the  world,  Sir ;  and  then  the  cur/ 
tain  rises  again,  and  then  we  blush  and  giggle  and 
simper  and  bow  all  over  again.  Oh !  the  sentimental 
charms  of  a  side/box  conversation !  \*A II  laugh. 

MANLY.  Well,  sister,  I  join  heartily  with  you  in 
the  laugh ;  for,  in  my  opinion,  it  is  as  justifiable  to 
laugh  at  folly  as  it  is  reprehensible  to  ridicule  mis/ 
fortune. 

CHARLOTTE.  Well,  but,  brother,  positively  I  can't 
introduce  you  in  these  clothes :  why,  your  coat  looks 
as  if  it  were  calculated  for  the  vulgar  purpose  of  keep/ 
ing^  yourself  comfortable. 

MANLY.  This  coat  was  my  regimental  coat  in  the 
late  war.  The  public  tumults  of  our  state  have  in' 
duced  me  to  buckle  on  the  sword  in  support  of  that 
government  which  I  once  fought  to  establish.  I  can 
only  say,  sister,  that  there  was  a  time  when  this  coat 
was  respectable,  and  some  people  even  thought  that 
those  men  who  had  endured  so  many  winter  cam/ 
paigns  in  the  service  of  their  country,  without  bread, 
clothing,  or  pay,  at  least  deserved  that  the  poverty  of 
their  appearance  should  not  be  ridiculed. 

CHARLOTTE.  We  agree  in  opinion  entirely,  bro/ 


THE  CONTRAST  51 

ther,  though  it  would  not  have  done  for  me  to  have 
said  it :  it  is  the  coat  makes  the  man  respectable.  In 
the  time  of  the  war,  when  we  were  almost  fright' 
ened  to  death,  why,  your  coat  was  respectable,  that 
is,  fashionable ;  now  another  kind  of  coat  is  fashion/ 
able,  that  is,  respectable.  And  pray  direct  the  taylor  to 
make  yours  the  height  of  the  fashion. 

MANLY.  Though  it  is  of  little  consequence  to  me 
of  what  shape  my  coat  is,  yet,  as  to  the  height  of  the 
fashion,  there  you  will  please  to  excuse  me,  sister. 
You  know  my  sentiments  on  that  subject.  I  have  of/ 
ten  lamented  the  advantage  which  the  French  have 
over  us  in  that  particular.  In  Paris,  the  fashions  have 
their  dawnings,  their  routine,  and  declensions,  and 
depend  as  much  upon  the  caprice  of  the  day  as  in 
other  countries ;  but  there  every  lady  assumes  a  right 
to  deviate  from  the  general  ton  as  far  as  will  be  of 
advantage  to  her  own  appearance.  In  America,  the 
cry  is,  what  is  the  fashion  ?  and  we  follow  it  indis/ 
criminately,  because  it  is  so. 

CHARLOTTE.  Therefore  it  is,  that  when  large  hoops 
are  in  fashion,  we  often  see  many  a  plump  girl  lost  in 
the  immensity  of  a  hoop/petticoat,  whose  want  of 
height  and  wbon'pomt  would  never  have  been  re/ 
marked  in  any  other  dress.  When  the  high  head/ 
dress  is  the  mode,  how  then  do  we  see  a  lofty  cush/ 
ion,  with  a  profusion  of  gauze,  feathers,  and  ribband, 


\ 


52  THE  CONTRAST 

supported  by  a  face  no  bigger  than  an  apple !  whilst 
a  broad  full'faced  lady,  who  really  would  have  ap' 
peared  tolerably  handsome  in  a  large  head-dress,  looks 
with  her  smart  chapeau  as  masculine  as  a  soldier. 

MANLY.  But  remember,  my  dear  sister,  and  I  wish 

I  all  my  fair  country /women  would  recollect,  that  the 

1  only  excuse  a  young  lady  can  have  for  going  extrav/ 

agantly  into  a  fashion  is  because  it  makes  her  look 

extravagantly  handsome.  —  Ladies,  I  must  wish  you 

a  good  morning. 

CHARLOTTE.  But,  brother,  you  are  going  to  make 
home  with  us. 

MANLY.  Indeed  I  cannot.  I  have  seen  my  uncle 
and  explained  that  matter. 

CHARLOTTE.  Come  and  dine  with  us,  then.  We 
have  a  family  dinner  about  half/past  four  o'clock. 

MANLY.  I  am  engaged  to  dine  with  the  Spanish 
ambassador.  I  was  introduced  to  him  by  an  old  brother 
officer;  and  instead  of  freezing  me  with  a  cold  card 
of  compliment  to  dine  with  him  ten  days  hence,  he, 
with  the  true  old  Castilian  frankness,  in  a  friendly 
manner,  asked  me  to  dine  with  him  to/day  —  an 
honour  I  could  not  refuse.  Sister,  adieu  —  Madam, 
your  most  obedient [8xit. 

CHARLOTTE.  I  will  wait  upon  you  to  the  door, 
brother;  I  have  something  particular  to  say  to  you. 

[exit. 


THE  CONTRAST  53 

LETITIA  [alone].  What  a  pair!  — She  the  pink  of 
flirtation,  he  the  essence  of  everything  that  is  outre 
and  gloomy.  — I  think  I  have  completely  deceived 
Charlotte  by  my  manner  of  speaking  of  Mr.  Dimple ; 
she's  too  much  the  friend  of  Maria  to  be  confided 
in.  He  is  certainly  rendering  himself  disagreeable  to 
Maria,  in  order  to  break  with  her  and  proffer  his 
hand  to  me.  This  is  what  the  delicate  fellow  hinted 
in  our  last  conversation.  [Exit. 

SCENE  II.  The  <JMall 
Enter  JESSAMY 

JESSAMY.  Positively  this  Mall  is  a  very  pretty  place. 
I  hope  the  cits  won't  ruin  it  by  repairs.  To  be  sure,  it 
won't  do  to  speak  of  in  the  same  day  with  Ranelegh  or 
Vauxhall;  however,  it's  a  fine  place  for  a  young  fel/ 
low  to  display  his  person  to  advantage.  Indeed,  noth/ 
ing  is  lost  here ;  the  girls  have  taste,  and  I  am  very 
happy  to  find  they  have  adopted  the  elegant  London 
fashion  of  looking  back,  after  a  genteel  fellow  like 
me  has  passed  them.  —  Ah !  who  comes  here  ?  This, 
by  his  awkwardness,  must  be  the  Yankee  colonel's 
servant.  I'll  accost  him. 

Enter  JONATHAN 

Votre  tres'humble  serviteur,  Monsieur.  I  under/ 
stand  Colonel  Manly,  the  Yankee  officer,  has  the  hon/ 
our  of  your  services. 


54  THE  CONTRAST 

JONATHAN.  Sir ! 

JESSAMY.  I  say,  Sir,  I  understand  that  Colonel  Man/ 
ly  has  the  honour  of  having  you  for  a  servant. 

JONATHAN.  Servant !  Sir,  do  you  take  me  for  a  ne/ 
ger,  —  I  am  Colonel  Manly's  waiter. 

JESSAMY.  A  true  Yankee  distinction,  egad,  with/ 
out  a  difference.  Why,  Sir,  do  you  not  perform  all 
the  offices  of  a  servant?  do  you  not  even  blacken  his 
boots? 

JONATHAN.  Yes ;  I  do  grease  them  a  bit  sometimes ; 
but  I  am  a  true  blue  son  of  liberty,  for  all  that.  Father 
said  I  should  come  as  Colonel  Manly's  waiter,  to  see 
the  world,  and  all  that ;  but  no  man  shall  master  me. 
My  father  has  as  good  a  farm  as  the  colonel. 

JESSAMY.  Well,  Sir,  we  will  not  quarrel  about 
terms  upon  the  eve  of  an  acquaintance  from  which 
I  promise  myself  so  much  satisfaction;  —  therefore, 
sans  ceremonie  — 

JONATHAN.  What? 

JESSAMY.  I  say  I  am  extremely  happy  to  see  Colo/ 
nel  Manly's  waiter. 

JONATHAN.  Well,  and  I  vow,  too,  I  am  pretty  con/ 
siderably  glad  to  see  you ;  but  what  the  dogs  need  of 
all  this  outlandish  lingo  ?  Who  may  you  be,  Sir,  if  I 
may  be  so  bold  ? 

JESSAMY.  I  have  the  honour  to  be  Mr.  Dimple's 
servant,  or,  if  you  please,  waiter.  We  lodge  under  the 


THE  CONTRAST  55 

same  roof,  and  should  be  glad  of  the  honour  of  your 
acquaintance. 

JONATHAN.  You  a  waiter!  by  the  living  jingo,  you 
look  so  topping,  I  took  you  for  one  of  the  agents  to 
Congress. 

JESSAMY.  The  brute  has  discernment,  notwith/ 
standing  his  appearance. — Give  me  leave  to  say  I 
wonder  then  at  your  familiarity. 

JONATHAN.  Why,  as  to  the  matter  of  that,  Mr. 
;  pray,  what's  your  name? 

JESSAMY.  Jessamy,  at  your  service. 

JONATHAN,  Why,  I  swear  we  don't  make  any  great"! 

matter  of  distinction  in  our  state  between  quality  and j 

other  folks. 

JESSAMY.  This  is,  indeed,  a  levelling  principle.  — 
I  hope,  Mr.  Jonathan,  you  have  not  taken  part  with 
the  insurgents. 

JONATHAN.  Why,  since  General  Shaysllas  sneaked 
off  and  given  us  the  bag  to  hold,  I  don't  care  to  give 
my  opinion;  but  you'll  promise  not  to  tell  —  put 
your  ear  this  way  —  you  won't  tell  ?  —  I  vow  I  did 
think  the  sturgeons  were  right. 

JESSAMY.  I  thought,  Mr.  Jonathan,  you  Massa' 
chusetts  men  always  argued  with  a  gun  in  your  hand. 
Why  didn't  you  join  them  ? 

JONATHAN.  Why,  the  colonel  is  one  of  those  folks 
called  the  Shin  —  Shin — dang  it  all,  I  can't  speak 


56  THE  CONTRAST 

them  lignum  vitae  words  —  you  know  who  I  mean 
—  there  is  a  company  of  them — they  wear  a  china 
goose  at  their  buttonhole  —  a  kind  of  gilt  thing.  - 
Now  the  colonel  told  father  and  brother,  —  you  must 
know  there  are,  let  me  see  —  there  is  Elnathan,  Si' 
las,  and  Barnabas,  Tabitha — no,  no,  she's  a  she  — 
tarnation,  now  I  have  it — there's  Elnathan,  Silas, 
Barnabas,  Jonathan,  that's  I  —  seven  of  us,  six  went 
into  the  wars,  and  I  staid  at  home  to  take  care  of 
mother.  Colonel  said  that  it  was  a  burning  shame  for 
the  true  blue  Bunker  Hill  sons  of  liberty,  who  had 
fought  Governor  Hutchinson,  Lord  North,  and  the 
Devil,  to  have  any  hand  in  kicking  up  a  cursed  dust 
against  a  government  which  we  had,  every  mother's 
son  of  us,  a  hand  in  making. 

JESSAMY.  Bravo!  —  Well,  have  you  been  abroad 
in  the  city  since  your  arrival  ?  What  have  you  seen 
that  is  curious  and  entertaining  ? 

JONATHAN.  Oh !  I  have  seen  a  power  of  fine  sights. 
I  went  to  see  two  marble /stone  men  and  a  leaden 
horse  that  stands  out  in  doors  in  all  weathers ;  and 
when  I  came  where  they  was,  one  had  got  no  head, 
and  t'other  wern't  there.  They  said  as  how  the  leaden 
man  was  a  damn'd  tory,  and  that  he  took  wit  in  his 
anger  and  rode  off  in  the  time  of  the  troubles. 

JESSAMY.  But  this  was  not  the  end  of  your  excur' 
sion? 


THE  CONTRAST  57 

JONATHAN.  Oh,  no ;  I  went  to  a  place  they  call 
Holy  Ground.  Now  I  counted  this  was  a  place  where 
folks  go  to  meeting ;  so  I  put  my  hymn-book  in  my 
pocket,  and  walked  softly  and  grave  as  a  minister ; 
and  when  I  came  there,  the  dogs  a  bit  of  a  meeting/ 
house  could  I  see.  At  last  I  spied  a  young  gentle/ 
woman  standing  by  one  of  the  seats  which  they  have 
here  at  the  doors.  I  took  her  to  be  the  deacon's  daugh/ 
ter,  and  she  looked  so  kind,  and  so  obliging,  that  I 
thought  I  would  go  and  ask  her  the  way  to  lecture, 
and — would  you  think  it  ?  —  she  called  me  dear,  and 
sweeting,  and  honey,  just  as  if  we  were  married :  by 
the  living  jingo,  I  had  a  month's  mind  to  buss  her. 

JESSAMY.  Well,  but  how  did  it  end? 

JONATHAN.  Why,  as  I  was  standing  talking  with 
her,  a  parcel  of  sailor  men  and  boys  got  round  me, 
the  snarl'headed  curs  fell  a/kicking  and  cursing  of 
me  at  such  a  tarnal  rate,  that  I  vow  I  was  glad  to  take 
to  my  heels  and  split  home,  right  off,  tail  on  end,  like 
a  stream  of  chalk. 

JESSAMY.  Why,  my  dear  friend,  you  are  not  ac/ 

quainted  with  the  city ;  that  girl  you  saw  was  a 

[Whispers. 

JONATHAN.  Mercy  on  my  soul !  was  that  young 
woman  a  harlot !  — Well !  if  this  is  New/York  Holy 
Ground,  what  must  the  Holyday  Ground  be ! 

JESSAMY.  Well,  you  should  not  judge  of  the  city 


58  THE  CONTRAST 

too  rashly.  We  have  a  number  of  elegant,  fine  girls 
here  that  make  a  man's  leisure  hours  pass  very  agree/ 
ably.  I  would  esteem  it  an  honour  to  announce  you 
to  some  of  them.  —  Gad !  that  announce  is  a  select 
word ;  I  wonder  where  I  picked  it  up. 

JONATHAN.  I  don't  want  to  know  them. 

JESSAMY.  Come,  come,  my  dear  friend,  I  see  that 
I  must  assume  the  honour  of  being  the  director  of 
your  amusements.  Nature  has  given  us  passions,  and 
youth  and  opportunity  stimulate  to  gratify  them.  It 
is  no  shame,  my  dear  Blueskin,  for  a  man  to  amuse 
himself  with  a  little  gallantry. 

JONATHAN.  Girl  huntry !  I  don't  altogether  under/ 
stand.  I  never  played  at  that  game.  I  know  how  to  play 
hunt  the  squirrel,  but  I  can't  play  anything  with  the 
girls ;  I  am  as  good  as  married. 

JESSAMY.  Vulgar,  horrid  brute!  Married,  and  above 
a  hundred  miles  from  his  wife,  and  thinks  that  an  ob/ 
jection  to  his  making  love  to  every  woman  he  meets ! 
He  never  can  have  read,  no,  he  never  can  have  been 
in  a  room  with  a  volume  of  the  divine  Chesterfield. 
—  So  you  are  married  ? 

JONATHAN.  No,  I  don't  say  so ;  I  said  I  was  as  good 
as  married,  a  kind  of  promise. 

JESSAMY.  As  good  as  married ! 

JONATHAN.  Why,  yes ;  there's  Tabitha  Wymen, 
the  deacon's  daughter,  at  home ;  she  and  I  have  been 


THE  CONTRAST  59 

courting  a  great  while,  and  folks  say  as  how  we  are 
to  be  married ;  and  so  I  broke  a  piece  of  money  with 
her  when  we  parted,  and  she  promised  not  to  spark 
it  with  Solomon  Dyer  while  I  am  gone.  You  wou'dn't 
have  me  false  to  my  true/love,  would  you  ? 

JESSAMY.  May  be  you  have  another  reason  for 
constancy ;  possibly  the  young  lady  has  a  fortune  ? 
Ha !  Mr.  Jonathan,  the  solid  charms :  the  chains  of 
love  are  never  so  binding  as  when  the  links  are  made 
of  gold. 

JONATHAN.  Why,  as  to  fortune,  I  must  needs  say 
her  father  is  pretty  dumb  rich ;  he  went  representa/ 
tive  for  our  town  last  year.  He  will  give  her — let 
me  see  — four  times  seven  is — seven  times  four — 
nought  and  carry  one , — he  will  give  her  twenty  acres 
of  land — somewhat  rocky  though — a  Bible,  and  a 
cow. 

JESSAMY.  Twenty  acres  of  rock,  a  Bible,  and  a 
cow !  Why,  my  dear  Mr.  Jonathan,  we  have  servant/ 
maids,  or,  as  you  would  more  elegantly  express  it, 
waitresses,  in  this  city,  who  collect  more  in  one  year 
from  their  mistresses'  cast  clothes. 

JONATHAN.  You  don't  say  so  ! 

JESSAMY.  Yes,  and  I'll  introduce  you  to  one  of 
them.  There  is  a  little  lump  of  flesh  and  delicacy  that 
lives  at  next  door,  waitress  to  Miss  Maria ;  we  often 
see  her  on  the  stoop. 


60  THE  CONTRAST 

JONATHAN.  But  are  you  sure  she  would  be  courted 
by  me  ? 

JESSAMY.  Never  doubt  it ;  remember  a  faint  heart 
never —  blisters  on  my  tongue — I  was  going  to  be 
guilty  of  a  vile  proverb ;  flat  against  the  authority  of 
Chesterfield.  I  say  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the  bril/ 
liancy  of  your  merit  will  secure  you  a  favourable  re' 
ception. 

JONATHAN.  Well,  but  what  must  I  say  to  her  ? 

JE  SSAMY.  Say  to  her !  why,  my  dear  friend,  though 

I  admire  your  profound  knowledge  on  every  other 

r_sibject,  yet,  you  will  pardon  my  saying  that  your 

want  of  opportunity  has  made  the  female  heart  es' 

^  cape  the  poignancy  of  your  penetration.  Say  to  her! 

Why,  when  a  man  goes  a'courting,  and  hopes  for 

success,  he  must  begin  with  doing,  and  not  say/ 

ing. 

JONATHAN.  Well,  what  must  I  do  ? 

JESSAMY.  Why,  when  you  are  introduced  you 
must  make  five  or  six  elegant  bows. 

JONATHAN.  Six  elegant  bows!  I  understand  that; 
six,  you  say?  Well 

JESSAMY.  Then  you  must  press  and  kiss  her  hand ; 
then  press  and  kiss,  and  so  on  to  her  lips  and  cheeks ; 
then  talk  as  much  as  you  can  about  hearts,  darts, 
flames,  nectar  and  ambrosia  —  the  more  incoherent 
the  better. 


THE  CONTRAST  61 

JONATHAN.  Well,  but  suppose  she  should  be  an/ 
gry  with  I  ? 

JESSAMY.  Why,  if  she  should  j>re  tend — please  to 
observe,  Mr.  Jonathan  —  if  she  should  pretend  to  be 

offended,  you  must But  I'll  tell  you  how  my  mas/ 

ter  acted  in  such  a  case :  He  was  seated  by  a  young 
lady  of  eighteen  upon  a  sofa,  plucking  with  a  wanton 
hand  the  blooming  sweets  of  youth  and  beauty.  When 
the  lady  thought  it  necessary  to  check  his  ardour,  she 
called  up  a  frown  upon  her  lovely  face,  so  irresisti/ 
bly  alluring,  that  it  would  have  warmed  the  frozen 
bosom  of  age ;  remember,  said  she,  putting  her  deli/ 
cate  arm  upon  his,  remember  your  character  and  my 
honour.  My  master  instantly  dropped  upon  his  knees, 
with  eyes  swimming  with  love,  cheeks  glowing  with 
desire,  and  in  the  gentlest  modulation  of  voice  he 
said:  My  dear  Caroline,  in  a  few  months  our  hands 
will  be  indissolubly  united  at  the  altar ;  our  hearts  I 
feel  are  already  so ;  the  favours  you  now  grant  as  evi/ 
dence  of  your  affection  are  favours  indeed ;  yet,  when 
the  ceremony  is  once  past,  what  will  now  be  received 
with  rapture  will  then  be  attributed  to  duty. 

JONATHAN.  Well,  and  what  was  the  consequence  ? 

JESSAMY.  The  consequence! — Ah!  forgive  me, 
my  dear  friend,  but  you  New  England  gentlemen 
have  such  a  laudable  curiosity  of  seeing  the  bottom 
of  everything ; — why,  to  be  honest,  I  confess  I  saw 


62  THE  CONTRAST 

the  blooming  cherub  of  a  consequence  smiling  in  its 
angelic  mother's  arms,  about  ten  months  afterwards. 

JONATHAN.  Well,  if  I  follow  all  your  plans,  make 
them  six  bows,  and  all  that,  shall  I  have  such  little 
cherubim  consequences  ? 

JESSAMY.  Undoubtedly. — What  are  you  musing 
upon? 

JONATHAN.  You  say  you'll  certainly  make  me  ac/ 
quainted  ? — Why,  I  was  thinking  then  how  I  should 
contrive  to  pass  this  broken  piece  of  silver — won't 
it  buy  a  sugar'dram  ? 

JESSAMY.  What  is  that,  the  love'token  from  the 
deacon's  daughter? — You  come  on  bravely.  But  1 
must  hasten  to  my  master.  Adieu,  my  dear  friend. 

JONATHAN.  Stay,  Mr.  Jessamy — must  I  buss  her 
when  I  am  introduced  to  her  ? 

JESSAMY.  I  told  you,  you  must  kiss  her. 

JONATHAN.  Well,  but  must  I  buss  her  ? 

JESSAMY.  Why  kiss  and  buss,  and  buss  and  kiss,  is 
all  one. 

JONATHAN.  Oh !  my  dear  friend,  though  you  have 
a  profound  knowledge  of  all,  a  pugnency  of  tribula/ 
tion,  you  don't  know  everything.  [£xit. 

JESSAMY  [alone].  Well,  certainly  I  improve;  my 
master  could  not  have  insinuated  himself  with  more 
address  into  the  heart  of  a  man  he  despised.  Now 
will  this  blundering  dog  sicken  Jenny  with  his  nau/ 


THE  CONTRAST  63 

seous  pawings,  until  she  flies  into  my  arms  for  very 
ease.  How  sweet  will  the^cpntrast  be  between  the 
blundering  Jonathan  and  the  courtly  and  accom/ 
plished  Jessamy! 


END  OF  THE  SECOND  ACT  ^ 


ACT  III.   SCENE  I 

DIMPLE'S  T^opm 
DIMPLE  discovered  at  a  Toilet 

DIMPLE  [reading] :  "Women  have  in  general  but 
one  object,  which  is  their  beauty."  Very  true,  my 
lord;  positively  very  true.  "  Nature  has  hardlyformed 
a  woman  ugly  enough  to  be  insensible  to  flattery  upon 
her  person."  Extremely  just,  my  lord;  every  day's  de/ 
lightful  experience  confirms  this.  "If  her  face  is  so 
shocking  that  she  must,  in  some  degree,  be  conscious 
of  it,  her  figure  and  air,  she  thinks,  make  ample  amends 
for  it."  The  sallow  Miss  Wan  is  a  proof  of  this.  Upon 
my  telling  the  distasteful  wretch,  the  other  day,  that 
her  countenance  spoke  the  pensive  language  of  senti> 
ment,  and  that  Lady  Wortley  Montagu  declared  that 
if  the  ladies  were  arrayed  in  the  garb  of  innocence, 
the  face  would  be  the  last  part  which  would  be  ad/ 
mired,  as  Monsieur  Milton  expresses  it,  she  grinn'd 
horribly  a  ghastly  smile.  "If  her  figure  is  deformed, 
she  thinks  her  face  counterbalances  it." 

6nter  JESSAMY  with  letters 

Where  got  you  these,  Jessamy? 

JESSAMY.  Sir,  the  English  packet  is  arrived. 


THE  CONTRAST  65 

DIMPLE  [opens  and  reads  a  letter  enclosing  notes] : 

"Sir, 

"I  have  drawn  bills  on  you  in  favour  of  Messrs. 
Van  Cash  and  Co.  as  per  margin.  I  have  taken  up 
your  note  to  Col.  Piquet,  and  discharged  your  debts 
to  my  Lord  Lurcher  and  Sir  Harry  Rook.  I  herewith 
enclose  you  copies  of  the  bills,  which  I  have  no  doubt 
will  be  immediately  honoured.  On  failure,  I  shall  em/ 
power  some  lawyer  in  your  country  to  recover  the 
amounts. 

"I  am,  Sir, 

"  Your  most  humble  servant, 

"JOHN  HAZARD." 

^""""^-»— -^^_  "         — 

Now,  did  not  my  lord  expressly  say  that  it  was  un/ 
becoming  a  well/bred  man  to  be  in  a  passion,  I  con/ 
fess  I  should  be  ruffled,  ffieads .]  "  There  is  no  acci> 
dent  so  unfortunate,  which  a  wise  man  may  not  turn 
to  his  advantage ;  nor  any  accident  so  fortunate,  which 
a  fool  will  not  turn  to  his  disadvantage."  True,  my 
lord ;  but  how  advantage  can  be  derived  from  this  I 
can't  see.  Chesterfield  himself,  who  made,  however, 
the  worst  practice  of  the  most  excellent  precepts,  was 
never  in  so  embarrassing  a  situation.  I  love  the  per/ 
son  of  Charlotte,  and  it  is  necessary  I  should  com/ 
mand  the  fortune  of  Letitia.  As  to  Maria !  — I  doubt 
not  by  my  sang-froid  behaviour  I  shall  compel  her  to 


66  THE  CONTRAST 

decline  the  match ;  but  the  blame  must  not  fall  upon 
me.  A  prudent  man,  as  my  lord  says,  should  take  all 
the  credit  of  a  good  action  to  himself,  and  throw  the 
discredit  of  a  bad  one  upon  others.  I  must  break  with 
Maria,  marry  Letitia,  and  as  for  Charlotte — why, 
Charlotte  must  be  a  companion  to  my  wife. — Here, 
Jessamy! 

Enter  JESSAMY 
DIMPLE  folds  and  seals  two  letters 

DIMPLE.  Here,  Jessamy,  take  this  letter  to  my  love. 

[(fives  one. 

JESSAMY.  To  which  of  your  honour's  loves? — 
Oh!  [reading]  to  Miss  Letitia,  your  honour's  rich 
love. 

DIMPLE.  And  this  [delivers  another}*®  Miss  Char' 
lotte  Manly.  See  that  you  deliver  them  privately. 

JESSAMY.  Yes,  your  honour.  [G°ing. 

DIMPLE.  Jessamy,  who  are  these  strange  lodgers 
that  came  to  the  house  last  night  ? 

JESSAMY.  Why,  the  master  is  a  Yankee  colonel ;  I 
have  not  seen  much  of  him ;  but  the  man  is  the  most 
unpolished  animal  your  honour  ever  disgraced  your 
eyes  by  looking  upon.  I  have  had  one  of  the  most 
outre  conversations  with  him !  —  He  really  has  a  most 
prodigious  effect  upon  my  risibility. 

DIMPLE.  I  ought,  according  to  every  rule  of  Ches' 


THE  CONTRAST  67 

terfield,  to  wait  on  him  and  insinuate  myself  into  his 

good  graces. Jessamy,  wait  on  the  colonel  with 

my  compliments,  and  if  he  is  disengaged  I  will  do  my/ 
self  the  honour  of  paying  him  my  respects.  —  Some 
ignorant,  unpolished  boor 

JESSAMYgoes  off  and  returns 

JESSAMY.  Sir,  the  colonel  is  gone  out,  and  Jona/ 
than  his  servant  says  that  he  is  gone  to  stretch  his  legs 
upon  the  Mall.  —  Stretch  his  legs !  what  an  indelicacy 
of  diction ! 

DIMPLE.  Very  well.  Reach  me  my  hat  and  sword. 
I'll  accost  him  there,  in  my  way  to  Letitia's,  as  by 
accident;  pretend  to  be  struck  by  his  person  and 
address,  and  endeavour  to  steal  into  his  confidence. 
Jessamy,  I  have  no  business  for  you  at  present.  [£#/'/, 

JESSAMY  [taking  up  the  book].  My  master  and  I  ob/ 
tain  our  knowledge  from  the  same  source;  —  though, 
gad !  I  think  myself  much  the  prettier  fellow  of  the 
two.  [Surveying  himself  in  the  glass.}  That  was  a  bril' 
liant  thought,  to  insinuate  that  I  folded  my  master's 
letters  for  him ;  the  folding  is  so  neat,  that  it  does  hon' 
our  to  the  operator.  I  once  intended  to  have  insinu' 
ated  that  I  wrote  his  letters  too ;  but  that  was  before 
I  saw  them;  it  won't  do  now;  no  honour  there,  posi' 
tively.  —  "Nothing  looks  more  vulgar,  [reading  af' 
fectedly\  ordinary,  and  illiberal  than  ugly,  uneven, 


68  THE  CONTRAST 

and  ragged  nails;  the  ends  of  which  should  be  kept 
even  and  clean,  not  tipped  with  black,  and  cut  in  small 
segments  of  circles."  —  Segments  of  circles!  surely 
my  lord  did  not  consider  that  he  wrote  for  the  beaux. 
Segments  of  circles ;  what  a  crabbed  term!  Now  I  dare 
answer  that  my  master,  with  all  his  learning,  does 
not  know  that  this  means,  according  to  the  present 
mode,  let  the  nails  grow  long,  and  then  cut  them  off 
even  at  top.  [Laughing  without.]  Ha !  that's  Jenny's 
titter.  I  protest  I  despair  of  ever  teaching  that  girl 
to  laugh ;  she  has  something  so  execrably  natural  in 
her  laugh,  that  I  declare  it  absolutely  discomposes 
my  nerves.  How  came  she  into  our  House !  [£W/r.] 
Jenny ! 

Enter  JENNY 

Prythee,  Jenny,  don't  spoil  your  fine  face  with 
laughing. 

JENNY.  Why,  mustn't  I  laugh,  Mr.  Jessamy? 

JESSAMY.  You  may  smile,  but,  as  my  lord  says, 
nothing  can  authorise  a  laugh. 

JENNY.  Well,  but  I  can't  help  kughing.  — Have 
you  seen  him,  Mr.  Jessamy?  ha,  ha,  ha! 

JESSAMY.  Seen  whom? 

JENNY.  Why,  Jonathan,  the  New  England  colo> 
nel's  servant.  Do  you  know  he  was  at  the  play  last 
night,  and  the  stupid  creature  don't  know  where  he 


THE  CONTRAST  69 

has  been.  He  would  not  go  to  a  play  for  the  world ; 
he  thinks  it  was  a  show,  as  he  calls  it. 

JESSAMY.  As  ignorant  and  unpolished  as  he  is,  do 
you  know,  Miss  Jenny,  that  I  propose  to  introduce 
him  to  the  honour  of  your  acquaintance  ? 

JENNY.  Introduce  him  to  me !  for  what  ? 

JESSAMY.  Why,  my  lovely  girl,  that  you  may  take 
him  under  your  protection,  as  Madame  Rambouillet    / 
did  young  Stanhope ;  that  you  may,  by  your  plastic   I 
hand,  mould  this  uncouth  cub  into  a  gentleman.  He  J 
is  to  make  love  to  you. 

JENNY.  Make  love  to  me !  - 

JESSAMY.  Yes,  Mistress  Jenny,  make  love  to  you ; 
and,  I  doubt  not,  when  he  shall  become  domestic  at e<T\ 
in  your  kitchen,  that  this  boor,  under  your  auspices,  J 
will  soon  become  un  amiable petit  Jonathan. 

JENNY.  I  must  say,  Mr.  Jessamy,  if  he  copies  after 
me,  he  will  be  vastly,  monstrously  polite. 

JESSAMY.  Stay  here  one  moment,  and  I  will  call 
him.  —  Jonathan !  —  Mr.  Jonathan !  —  [falls. 

JONATHAN  [within].  Holla !  there.  —  [£ nters.]  You 
promise  to  stand  by  me — six  bows  you  say.  [Bows. 

JESSAMY.  Mrs.  Jenny,  I  have  the  honour  of  pre/ 
senting  Mr.  Jonathan,  Colonel  Manly's  waiter,  to  you. 
I  am  extremely  happy  that  I  have  it  in  my  power 
to  make  two  worthy  people  acquainted  with  each 
other's  merits. 


70  THE  CONTRAST 

JENNY.  So,  Mr.  Jonathan,  I  hear  you  were  at  the 
play  last  night. 

JONATHAN.  At  the  play!  why,  did  you  think  I 
went  to  the  devil's  drawing/room  ? 

JENNY.  The  devil's  drawing/room ! 

JONATHAN.  Yes ;  why  an't  cards  and  dice  the  dev 
iTs  device,  and  the  play/house  the  shop  where  the 
devil  hangs  out  the  vanities  of  the  world  upon  the 
tenter /hooks  of  temptation  ?  I  believe  you  have  not 
heard  how  they  were  acting  the  old  boy  one  night, 
and  the  wicked  one  came  among  them  sure  enough, 
and  went  right  off  in  a  storm,  and  carried  one  quarter 
of  the  play/house  with  him.  Oh !  no,  no,  no !  you 
won't  catch  me  at  a  play /house,  I  warrant  you. 

JENNY.  Well,  Mr.  Jonathan,  though  I  don't  scruple 
your  veracity,  I  have  some  reasons  for  believing  you 
were  there :  pray,  where  were  you  about  six  o'clock  ? 

JONATHAN.  Why,  I  went  to  see  one  Mr.  Morri' 
son,  the  hocus  pocus  man ;  they  said  as  how  he  could 
eat  a  case  knife. 

JENNY.  Well,  and  how  did  you  find  the  place  ? 

JONATHAN.  As  I  was  going  about  here  and  there, 
to  and  again,  to  find  it,  I  saw  a  great  crowd  of  folks 
going  into  a  long  entry  that  had  lantherns  over  the 
door ;  so  I  asked  a  man  whether  that  was  not  the  place 
where  they  played  hocus  pocus  ?  He  was  a  very  civil, 
kind  man,  though  he  did  speak  like  the  Hessians;  he 


THE  CONTRAST  71 

lifted  up  his  eyes  and  said,  "  They  play  hocus  pocus 
tricks  enough  there,  Got  knows,  mine  friend." 

JENNY.  Well- 

JONATHAN.  So  I  went  right  in,  and  they  shewed 
me  away,  clean  up  to  the  garret,  just  like  meeting/ 
house  gallery.  And  so  I  saw  a  power  of  topping  folks, 
all  sitting  round  in  little  cabbins,  "just  like  father's 
corn/cribs" ;  and  then  there  was  such  a  squeaking 
with  the  fiddles,  and  such  a  tarnal  blaze  with  the 
lights,  my  head  was  near  turned.  At  last  the  people 
that  sat  near  me  set  up  such  a  hissing — hiss — like  so 
many  mad  cats;  and  then  they  went  thump,  thump, 
thump,  just  like  our  Peleg  threshing  wheat,  and 
stampt  away,  just  like  the  nation ;  and  called  out  for 
one  Mr.  Langolee, — I  suppose  he  helps  act  the 
tricks. 

JENNY.  Well,  and  what  did  you  do  all  this  time  ? 

JONATHAN.  Gor,  I — Hiked  the  fun,  andsol  thumpt 
away,  and  hiss'd  as  lustily  as  the  best  of  'em.  One  sailor/ 
looking  man  that  sat  by  me,  seeing  me  stamp,  and 
knowing  I  was  a  cute  fellow,  because  I  could  make 
a  roaring  noise,  clapt  me  on  the  shoulder  and  said, 

"  You  are  a  d d  hearty  cock,  smite  my  timbers ! " 

I  told  him  so  I  was,  but  I  thought  he  need  not  swear 
so,  and  make  use  of  such  naughty  words. 

JESSAMY.  The  savage !  — Well,  and  did  you  see  the 
man  with  his  tricks? 


r 


72  THE  CONTRAST 

JONATHAN.  Why,  I  vow,  as  I  was  looking  out  for 
him,  they  lifted  up  a  great  green  cloth  and  let  us  look 
right  into  the  next  neighbour's  house.  Have  you  a 
good  many  houses  in  New/ York  made  so  in  that  'ere 
way? 

JENNY.  Not  many ;  but  did  you  see  the  family  ? 

JONATHAN.  Yes,  swamp  it ;  I  see'd  the  family. 

JENNY.  Well,  and  how  did  you  like  them  ? 

JONATHAN.  Why,  I  vow  they  were  pretty  much 
like  other  families; — there  was  a  poor,  good/natured, 
curse  of  a  husband,  and  a  sad  rantipole  of  a  wife. 

JENNY.  But  did  you  see  no  other  folks? 

JONATHAN.  Yes.  There  was  one  youngster ;  they 
called  him  Mr.  Joseph ;  he  talked  as  sober  and  as  pious 
as  a  minister ;  but,  like  some  ministers  that  I  know,  he 
was  a  sly  tike  in  his  heart  for  all  that.  He  was  going  to 
ask  a  young  woman  to  spark  it  with  him,  and — the 
Lord  have  mercy  on  my  soul! — she  was  another 
man's  wife. 

JESSAMY.  The  Wabash! 

JENNY.  And  did  you  see  any  more  folks  ? 

JONATHAN.  Why,  they  came  on  as  thick  as  mus/ 
tard.  For  my  part,  I  thought  the  house  was  haunted. 
There  was  a  soldier  fellow,  who  talked  about  his  row 
de  dow,  dow,  and  courted  a  young  woman ;  but,  of  all 
the  cute  folk  I  saw,  I  liked  one  little  fellow— 

JENNY.  Aye !  who  was  he  ? 


THE  CONTRAST  73 

JONATHAN.  Why,  he  had  red  hair,  and  a  little 
round  plump  face  like  mine,  only  not  altogether  so 
handsome.  His  name  was — Darby;  — that  was  his 
baptizing  name  ;  his  other  name  I  forgot.  Oh !  it  was 
Wig — Wag — Wag/all,  Darby  Wag/alJ, — pray,  do 
you  know  him? — I  should  like  to  take  a  sling  with 
him,  or  a  drap  of  cyder  with  a  pepper /pod  in  it,  to 
make  it  warm  and  comfortable. 

JENNY.  I  can't  say  I  have  that  pleasure. 

JONATHAN.  I  wish  you  did ;  he  is  a  cute  fellow. 
But  there  was  one  thing  I  didn't  like  in  that  Mr. 
Darby ;  and  that  was,  he  was  afraid  of  some  of  them 
'ere  shooting  irons,  such  as  your  troopers  wear  on 
training  days.  Now,  I'm  a  true  born  Yankee  American 
son  of  liberty,  and  I  never  was  afraid  of  a  gun  yet  in 
all  my  life. 

JENNY.  Well,  Mr.  Jonathan,  you  were  certainly 
at  the  playhouse. 

JONATHAN.  I  at  the  play/house !  — Why  didn't  I 
see  the  play  then  ? 

JENNY.  Why,  the  people  you  saw  were  players. 

JONATHAN.  Mercy  on  my  soul!  did  I  see  the 
wicked  players  ?  —  Mayhap  that  'ere  Darby  that  I 
liked  so  was  the  old  serpent  himself,  and  had  his  clo/ 
ven  foot  in  his  pocket.  Why,  I  vow,  now  I  come  to 
think  on't,  the  candles  seemed  to  burn  blue,  and  I  am 
sure  where  I  sat  it  smelt  tarnally  of  brimstone. 


74  THE  CONTRAST 

JESSAMY.  Well,  Mr.  Jonathan,  from  your  account, 
which  I  confess  is  very  accurate,  you  must  have  been 
at  the  playhouse. 

JONATHAN.  Why,  I  vow,  I  began  to  smell  a  rat. 
When  I  came  away,  I  went  to  the  man  for  my  money 
again ;  you  want  your  money  ?  says  he ;  yes,  says  I ; 
for  what  ?  says  he ;  why,  says  I,  no  man  shall  jocky  me 
out  of  my  money ;  I  paid  my  money  to  see  sights, 
and  the  dogs  a  bit  of  a  sight  have  I  seen,  unless  you 
call  listening  to  people's  private  business  a  sight.  Why, 
says  he,  it  is  the  School  for  Scandalization.  —  The 
School  for  Scandalization! — Oh!  ho!  no  wonder 
you  New  York  folks  are  so  cute  at  it,  when  you  go 
to  school  to  learn  it ;  and  so  I  jogged  off. 

JESSAMY.  My  dear  Jenny,  my  master's  business 
drags  me  from  you ;  would  to  heaven  I  knew  no  other 
servitude  than  to  your  charms. 

JONATHAN.  Well,  but  don't  go;  you  won't  leave 
me  so— 

JESSAMY.  Excuse  me.  —  Remember  the  cash. 

\taAside  to  him,  and —  Exit. 

J  ENNY.  Mr.  Jonathan ,  won't  you  please  to  sit  down  ? 
Mr.  Jessamy  tells  me  you  wanted  to  have  some  con/ 
versation  with  me. 

[Having  brought  forward  two  chairs ,  they  sit. 

JONATHAN.  Ma'am !  — 

JENNY.  Sir !  - 


THE  CONTRAST  75 

JONATHAN.  Ma'am ! 

JENNY.  Pray,  how  do  you  like  the  city,  Sir  ? 

JONATHAN.  Ma'am! 

JENNY.  I  say,  Sir,  how  do  you  like  New  York  f 

JONATHAN.  Ma'am ! 

JENNY.  The  stupid  creature !  but  I  must  pass  some 
little  time  with  him,  if  it  is  only  to  endeavour  to  learn 
whether  it  was  his  master  that  made  such  an  abrupt 
entrance  into  our  house,  and  my  young  mistress's 
heart,  this  morning,  [^/fside.]  As  you  don't  seem  to 
like  to  talk,  Mr.  Jonathan — do  you  sing? 

JONATHAN.  Gor,  I — I  am  glad  she  asked  that,  for 
Iforgot  what  Mr.  Jessamy  bid  me  say,  and  I  dare  as 
well  be  hanged  as  act  what  he  bid  me  do,  I'm  so 
ashamed,  [^/fside.]  Yes,  Ma'am,  I  can  sing — I  can 
sing  Mear,  Old  Hundred,  and  Bangor. 

JENNY.  Oh !  I  don't  mean  psalm  tunes.  Have  you 
no  little  song  to  please  the  ladies,  such  as  Roslin  Gas/ 
tie,  or  the  Maid  of  the  Mill  ? 

JONATHAN.  Why,  all  my  tunes  go  to  meeting  tunes, 
save  one ,  andl  count  you  won't  altogether  like  that  'ere. 

JENNY.  What  is  it  called  ? 

JONATHAN.  I  am  sure  you  have  heard  folks  talk 
about  it ;  it  is  called  Yankee  Doodle. 

JENNY.  Oh !  it  is  the  tune  I  am  fond  of;  and  if  I 
know  anything  of  my  mistress,  she  would  be  glad  to 
dance  to  it.  Pray,  sing ! 


76  THE  CONTRAST 

JONATHAN  [sings]. 

Father  and  I  went  up  to  camp, 
Along  with  Captain  Goodwin  ; 
And  there  we  saw  the  men  and  boys, 
As  thick  as  hasty-pudding. 

Yankee  doodle  do,  etc. 

And  there  we  saw  a  swamping  gun, 
Big  as  log  of  maple, 
On  a  little  deuced  cart, 
A  load  for  father's  cattle. 

Yankee  doodle  do,  etc. 

And  every  time  they  fired  it  off 
It  took  a  horn  of  powder, 
It  made  a  noise  —  like  father's  gun, 
Only  a  nation  louder. 

Yankee  doodle  do,  etc. 

There  was  a  man  in  our  town, 
His  name  was 

No,  no,  that  won't  do.  Now,  if  I  was  with  Tabitha 
Wymen  and  Jemima  Cawley  down  at  father  Chase's, 
I  shouldn't  mind  singing  this  all  out  before  them — 
you  would  be  affronted  if  I  was  to  sing  that,  though 
that's  a  lucky  thought ;  if  you  should  be  affronted, 
I  have  something  dang'd  cute,  which  Jessamy  told 
me  to  say  to  you. 

JENNY.  Is  that  all!  I  assure  you  I  like  it  of  all  things. 

JONATHAN.  No,  no ;  I  can  sing  more ;  some  other 
time,  when  you  and  I  are  better  acquainted,  I'll  sing 


THE  CONTRAST  77 

the  whole  of  it — no,  no — that's  a  fib — I  can't  sing 
but  a  hundred  and  ninety  verses ;  our  Tabitha  at  home 
can  sing  it  all. [Sings. 

Marblehead's  a  rocky  place, 
And  Cape- Cod  is  sandy; 
Charlestown  is  burnt  down, 
Boston  is  the  dandy. 

Yankee  doodle,  doodle  do,  etc. 

I  vow,  my  own  town  song  has  put  me  into  such  top/ 
ping  spirits  that  I  believe  I'll  begin  to  do  a  little,  as 
Jessamy  says  we  must  when  we  go  a/courting  — 
[^uns  and  kisses  her,]  Burning  rivers!  cooling 
flames !  red/hot  roses !  pig'nuts !  hasty /pudding  and 
ambrosia ! 

JENNY.  What  means  this  freedom  ?  you  insulting 
wretch.  [Strikes  him. 

JONATHAN.  Are  you  affronted  ? 

JENNY.  Affronted !  with  what  looks  shall  I  express 
my  anger  ? 

JONATHAN.  Looks !  why  as  to  the  matter  of  looks, 
you  look  as  cross  as  a  witch. 

JENNY.  Have  you  no  feeling  for  the  delicacy  of 
my  sex  ? 

JONATHAN.  Feeling!  Gor,  I  —  I  feel  the  delicacy 
of  your  sex  pretty  smartly  [rubbing  bis  cheek],  though, 
I  vow,  I  thought  when  you  city  ladies  courted  and 
married,  and  all  that,  you  put  feeling  out  of  the  ques' 


78  THE  CONTRAST 

tion.  But  I  want  to  know  whether  you  are  really  afv 
fronted,  or  only  pretend  to  be  so  ?  'Cause,  if  you  are 
certainly  right  down  affronted,  I  am  at  the  end  of  my 
tether ;  Jessamy  didn't  tell  me  what  to  say  to  you. 

JENNY.  Pretend  to  be  affronted ! 

JONATHAN.  Aye  aye,  if  you  only  pretend,  you 
shall  hear  how  I'll  go  to  work  to  make  cherubim  con' 
sequences.  [Ityns  up  to  her. 

JENNY.  Begone,  you  brute ! 

JONATHAN.  That  looks  like  mad ;  but  I  won't  lose 
my  speech.  My  dearest  Jenny — your  name  is  Jenny, 
I  think? — My  dearest  Jenny,  though  I  have  the 
highest  esteem  for  the  sweet  favours  you  have  just 
now  granted  me — Gor,  that's  a  fib,  though;  but 
Jessamy  says  it  is  not  wicked  to  tell  lies  to  the  women. 
[d/fside.]  I  say,  though  I  have  the  highest  esteem  for 
the  favours  you  have  just  now  granted  me,  yet  you 
will  consider  that,  as  soon  as  the  dissolvable  knot  is 
tied,  they  will  no  longer  be  favours,  but  only  matters 
of  duty  and  matters  of  course. 

JENNY.  Marry  you !  you  audacious  monster !  get 
out  of  my  sight,  or,  rather,  let  me  fly  from  you. 

[Gxit  hastily. 

JONATHAN.  GorJ  she's  gone  off  in  a  swinging  pas/ 
sion,  before  I  had  time  to  think  of  consequences. 
If  this  is  the  way  with  your  city  ladies,  give  me  the 
twenty  acres  of  rock,  the  Bible,  the  cow,  and  Tabi/ 
tha,  and  a  little  peaceable  bundling. 


THE  CONTRAST  79 


SCENE  II.  The 
Enter  MANLY 

MANLY.  It  must  be  so,  Montague  !  and  it  is  not  all 
the  tribe  of  Mandevilles  that  shall  convince  me  that 
a  nation,  to  become  great,  must  first  become  dissi/ 
pated.  Luxury  is  surely  the  bane  of  a  nation  :  Luxury! 
which  enervates  both  soul  and  body,  by  opening  a 
thousand  new  sources  of  enjoyment,  opens,  also,  a 
thousand  new  sources  of  contention  and  want  :  Lux' 
ury  !  which  renders  a  people  weak  at  home,  and  ac/ 
cessible  to  bribery,  corruption,  and  force  from  abroad. 
When  the  Grecian  states  knew  no  other  tools  than  the 
axe  and  the  saw,  the  Grecians  were  a  great,  a  free, 
and  a  happy  people.  The  kings  of  Greece  devoted 
their  lives  to  the  service  of  their  country,  and  her  sen/ 
ators  knew  no  other  superiority  over  their  fellow/ 
citizens  than  a  glorious  pre/eminence  in  danger  and 
virtue.  They  exhibited  to  the  world  a  noble  spectacle, 
—  a  number  of  independent  states  united  by  a  simi> 
larity  of  language,  sentiment,  manners,  common  in/ 
terest,  and  common  consent  in  one  grand  mutual 
league  of  protection.  And,  thus  united,  long  might 
they  have  continued  the  cherishers  of  arts  and  sci/ 
ences,  the  protectors  of  the  oppressed,  the  scourge  of 
tyrants,  and  the  safe  asylum  of  liberty.  But  whenjfor/ 
eign  gold,  and  still  more  pernicious  foreign  luxury, 


8o  THE  CONTRAST 

had  crept  among  them,  they  sapped  the  vitals  of  their 

(jvirtue.  The  virtues  of  their  ancestors  were  only  found 

in  their  writings.  Envy  and  suspicion,  the  vices  of 

little  minds,  possessed  them.  The  various  states  engen/ 

dered  jealousies  of  each  other ;  and,  more  unfortu/ 

nately,  growing  jealous  of  their  great  federal  council, 

the  Amphictyons,  they  forgot  that  their  common 

safety  had  existed,  and  would  exist,  in  giving  them  an 

honourable  extensive  prerogative.  The  common  good 

I    was  lost  in  the  pursuit  of  private  interest ;  and  that 

V  people  who,  by  uniting,  might  have  stood  against  the 

\  world  in  arms,  by  dividing,  crumbled  into  ruin ;  - 

their  name  is  now  only  known  in  the  page  of  the  histO' 

rian,  and  what  they  once  were  is  all  we  have  left  to 

admire.  Oh!  that  America!  Oh!  that  my  country, 

would,  in  this  her  day,  learn  the  things  which  be/ 

long  to  her  peace  1 

Enter  DIMPLE 

DIMPLE.  You  are  Colonel  Manly,  I  presume? 

MANLY.  At  your  service,  Sir. 

DIMPLE.  My  name  is  Dimple,  Sir.  I  have  the  hon' 
our  to  be  a  lodger  in  the  same  house  with  you,  and, 
hearing  you  were  in  the  Mall,  came  hither  to  take 
the  liberty  of  joining  you. 

MANLY.  You  are  very  obliging,  Sir. 

DIMPLE.  As  I  understand  you  are  a  stranger  here, 


THE  CONTRAST  81 

Sir,  I  have  taken  the  liberty  to  introduce  myself  to 
your  acquaintance,  as  possibly  I  may  have  it  in  my 
power  to  point  out  some  things  in  this  city  worthy 
your  notice. 

MANLY.  An  attention  to  strangers  is  worthy  a 
liberal  mind,  and  must  ever  be  gratefully  received. 
But  to  a  soldier,  who  has  no  fixed  abode,  such  atten/ 
tions  are  particularly  pleasing. 

DIMPLE.  Sir,  there  is  no  character  so  respectable 
as  that  of  a  soldier.  And,  indeed,  when  we  reflect 
how  much  we  owe  to  those  brave  men  who  have 
suffered  so  much  in  the  service  of  their  country,  and 
secured  to  us  those  inestimable  blessings  that  we  now 
enjoy,  our  liberty  and  independence,  they  demand 
every  attention  which  gratitude  can  pay.  For  my 
own  part,  I  never  meet  an  officer,  but  I  embrace  him 
as  my  friend,  nor  a  private  in  distress,  but  I  insen/ 

sibly  extend  my  charity  to  him. 1  have  hit  the 

Bumkin  off  very  tolerably.  [zAside. 

MANLY.  Give  me  your  hand,  Sir !  I  do  not  proffer 
this  hand  to  everybody;  but  you  steal  into  my  heart. 
I  hope  I  am  as  insensible  to  flattery  as  most  men ;  but 
I  declare  (it  may  be  my  weak  side)  that  I  never  hear 
the  name  of  soldier  mentioned  with  respect,  but  I  ex/ 
perience  a  thrill  of  pleasure  which  I  never  feel  on 
any  other  occasion. 

DIMPLE.  Will  you  give  me  leave,  my  dear  Colonel, 


82 


THE  CONTRAST 


V 


\jr\ 


to  confer  an  obligation  on  myself,  by  shewing  you 
some  civilities  during  your  stay  here,  and  giving  a 
similar  opportunity  to  some  of  my  friends  ? 

MANLY.  Sir,  I  thank  you ;  but  I  believe  my  stay 
in  this  city  will  be  very  short. 

DIMPLE.  I  can  introduce  you  to  some  men  of  excel/ 
lent  sense,  in  whose  company  you  will  esteem  your/ 
self  happy ;  and,  by  way  of  amusement,  to  some  fine 
girls,  who  will  listen  to  your  soft  things  with  pleasure. 

MANLY.  Sir,  I  should  be  proud  of  the  honour  of 
being  acquainted  with  those  gentlemen ; — but,  as  for 
the  ladies,  I  don't  understand  you. 

DIMPLE.  Why,  Sir,  I  need  not  tell  you,  that  when 
a  young  gentleman  is  alone  with  a  young  lady  he  must 
say  some  soft  things  to  her  fair  cheek — indeed,  the 
lady  will  expect  it.  To  be  sure,  there  is  not  much 
pleasure  when  a  man  of  the  world  and  a  finished  co/ 
quette  meet,  who  perfectly  know  each  other;  but 
how  delicious  is  it  to  excite  the  emotions  of  joy,  hope, 
expectation,  and  delight  in  the  bosom  of  a  lovely  girl 
who  believes  every  tittle  of  what  you  say  to  be  serious ! 

MANLY.  Serious,  Sir!  In  my  opinion,  the  man 
who,  under  pretensions  of  marriage,  can  plant  thorns 
in  the  bosom  of  an  innocent,  unsuspecting  girl  is  more 
detestable  than  a  common  robber,  in  the  same  pro/ 
portion  as  private  violence  is  more  despicable  than 
open  force,  and  money  of  less  value  than  happiness. 


THE  CONTRAST  83 

DIMPLE.  How  he  awes  me  by  the  superiority  of 
his  sentiments.  [^Aside.]  As  you  say,  Sir,  a  gentle/ 
man  should  be  cautious  how  he  mentions  marriage. 

MANLY.  Cautious,  Sir !  No  person  more  approves 

of  an  intercourse  between  the  sexes  than  I  do.  Fe/ 

^ 

male  conversation  softens  our  manners,  whilst  our 
discourse,  from  the  superiority  of  our  literary  advan/ 
tages,  improves  their  minds.  (But,  in  our  young  coun/ 
try,  where  there  is  no  such  thing  as  gallantry,  when 
a  gentleman  speaks  of  love  to  a  lady,  whether  he  men/ 
tions  marriage  or  not,  she  ought  to  conclude  either 
that  he  meant  to  insult  her  or  that  his  intentions  are 
the  most  serious  and  honourable.  How  mean,  how 
cruel,  is  it,  by  a  thousand  tender  assiduities,  to  win 
the  affections  of  an  amiable  girl,  and,  though  you 
leave  her  virtue  unspotted,  to  betray  her  into  the  ap/ 
pearance  of  so  many  tender  partialities,  that  every 
man  of  delicacy  would  suppress  his  inclination  to/ 
wards  her,  by  supposing  her  heart  engaged !  Can  any 
man,  for  the  trivial  gratification  of  his  leisure  hours, 
affect  the  happiness  of  a  whole  life !  His  not  having 
spoken  of  marriage  may  add  to  his  perfidy,  but  can 
be  no  excuse  for  his  conduct. 

DIMPLE.  Sir,  I  admire  your  sentiments; — they 
are  mine.  The  light  observations  that  fell  from  me 
were  only  a  principle  of  the  tongue ;  they  came  not 
from  the  heart ;  my  practice  has  ever  disapproved 
these  principles. 


84  THE  CONTRAST 

MANLY.  I  believe  you,  sir.  I  should  with  reluc/ 
tance  suppose  that  those  pernicious  sentiments  could 
find  admittance  into  the  heart  of  a  gentleman. 

DIMPLE.  I  am  now,  Sir,  going  to  visit  a  family, 
where,  if  you  please,  I  will  have  the  honour  of  in/ 
troducing  you.  Mr.  Manly's  ward,  Miss  Letitia,  is  a 
young  lady  of  immense  fortune  ;  and  his  niece,  Miss 
Charlotte  Manly,  is  a  young  lady  of  great  sprightli/ 
ness  and  beauty. 

MANLY.  That  gentleman,  Sir,  is  my  uncle,  and 
Miss  Manly  my  sister. 

DIMPLE.  The  devil  she  is  !  [^Aside.]  Miss  Manly 
your  sister,  Sir  ?  I  rejoice  to  hear  it,  and  feel  a  double 
pleasure  in  being  known  to  you.  -  Plague  on  him  1 
I  wish  he  was  at  Boston  again,  with  all  my  soul. 


MANLY.  Come,  Sir,  will  you  go? 

DIMPLE.  I  will  follow  you  in  a  moment,  Sir.  [£xit 
MANLY.]  Plague  on  it  !  this  is  unlucky.  A  fighting 
brother  is  a  cursed  appendage  to  a  fine  girl.  Egad  !  J 
just  stopped  in  time  ;  had  he  not  discovered  himself, 
in  two  minutes  more  I  should  have  told  him  how  well 
T  was  with  his  sister.  Indeed,  I  cannot  see  the  satis/ 
faction  of  an  intrigue,  if  one  can't  have  the  pleasure 
of  communicating  it  to  our  friends.  [Exit. 


END  OF  THE  THIRD  ACT 


ACT  IV.    SCENE  I 

CHARLOTTE'S  ^Apartment 
CHARLOTTE  leading  in  MARIA 

CHARLOTTE.  This  is  so  kind,  my  sweet  friend,  to 
come  to  see  me  at  this  moment.  I  declare,  if  I  were 
going  to  be  married  in  a  few  days,  as  you  are,  I  should 
scarce  have  found  time  to  visit  my  friends. 

MARIA.  Do  you  think,  then,  that  there  is  an  im' 
propriety  in  it? — How  should  you  dispose  of  your 
time? 

CHARLOTTE.  Why,  I  should  be  shut  up  in  my  cham' 
ber ;  and  my  head  would  so  run  upon — upon — upon 
the  solemn  ceremony  that  I  was  to  pass  through  !  — 
I  declare,  it  would  take  me  above  two  hours  merely 
to  learn  that  little  monosyllable  —  Tes.  Ah !  my  dear, 
your  sentimental  imagination  does  not  conceive  what 
that  little  tiny  word  implies. 

MARIA.  Spare  me  your  raillery,  my  sweet  friend ; 
I  should  love  your  agreeable  vivacity  at  any  other 
time. 

CHARLOTTE.  Why,  this  is  the  very  time  to  amuse 
you.  You  grieve  me  to  see  you  look  so  unhappy. 

MARIA.  Have  I  not  reason  to  look  so  ? 

CHARLOTTE.  What  new  grief  distresses  you? 

MARIA.  Oh !  how  sweet  it  is,  when  the  heart  is 


86  THE  CONTRAST 

borne  down  with  misfortune,  to  recline  and  repose 
on  the  bosom  of  friendship '  Heaven  knows  that,  al/ 
though  it  is  improper  for  a  young  lady  to  praise  a  gen/ 
tleman,  yet  I  have  ever  concealed  Mr.  Dimple's  foi/ 
bles,  and  spoke  of  him  as  of  one  whose  reputation 
I  expected  would  be  linked  with  mine ;  but  his  late 
conduct  towards  me  has  turned  my  coolness  into  con/ 
tempt.  He  behaves  as  if  he  meant  to  insult  and  dis/ 
gust  me ;  whilst  my  father,  in  the  last  conversation 
on  the  subject  of  our  marriage,  spoke  of  it  as  a  mat/ 
ter  which  lay  near  his  heart,  and  in  which  he  would 
not  bear  contradiction. 

CHARLOTTE.  This  works  well;  oh!  the  generous 
Dimple.  Til  endeavour  to  excite  her  to  discharge  him. 
[z^Aside.]  But,  my  dear  friend,  your  happiness  de/ 
pends  on  yourself.  Why  don't  you  discard  him? 
Though  the  match  has  been  of  long  standing,  I  would 
not  be  forced  to  make  myself  miserable :  no  parent 
in  the  world  should  oblige  me  to  marry  the  man  I 
did  not  like. 

MARIA.  Oh !  my  dear,  you  never  lived  with  your 
parents,  and  do  not  know  what  influence  a  father's 
frowns  have  upon  a  daughter's  heart.  Besides,  what 
have  I  to  alledge  against  Mr.  Dimple,  to  justify  my/ 
r-self  to  the  world?  He  carries  himself  so  smoothly, 
that  every  one  would  impute  the  blame  to  me,  and 
call  me  capricious. 


THE  CONTRAST  87 

CHARLOTTE.  And  call  her  capricious !  Did  ever 
such  an  objection  start  into  the  heart  of  woman  ?  For 
my  part,  I  wish  I  had  fifty  lovers  to  discard,  for  no 
other  reason  than  because  I  did  not  fancy  them.  My 
dear  Maria,  you  will  forgive  me ;  I  know  your  can/ 
dour  and  confidence  in  me ;  but  I  have  at  times,  I  con/ 
fess,  been  led  to  suppose  that  some  other  gentleman 
was  the  cause  of  your  aversion  to  Mr.  Dimple. 

MARIA.  No,  my  sweet  friend,  you  may  be  assured, 
that  though  I  have  seen  many  gentlemen  I  could  pre/ 
fer  to  Mr.  Dimple,  yet  I  never  saw  one  that  I  thought 
I  could  give  my  hand  to,  until  this  morning. 

CHARLOTTE.  This  morning! 

MARIA.  Yes ;  one  of  the  strangest  accidents  in  the 
world.  The  odious  Dimple,  after  disgusting  me  with 
his  conversation,  had  just  left  me,  when  a  gentleman, 
who,  it  seems,  boards  in  the  same  house  with  him, 
saw  him  coming  out  of  our  door,  and,  the  houses  look/ 
ing  very  much  alike,  he  came  into  our  house  instead 
of  his  lodgings ;  nor  did  he  discover  his  mistake  until 
he  got  into  the  parlour,  where  I  was ;  he  then  bowed 
so  gracefully,  made  such  a  genteel  apology,  and  looked 
so  manly  and  noble !  — 

CHARLOTTE.  I  see  some  folks,  though  it  is  so  great 
an  impropriety,  can  praise  a  gentleman,  when  he  hap/ 
pens  to  be  the  man  of  their  fancy.  \*A side. 

MARIA.  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  —  I  hope  he  did 


88  THE  CONTRAST 

not  think  me  indelicate,  —  but  I  asked  him,  I  be/ 
lieve,  to  sit  down,  or  pointed  to  a  chair.  He  sat  down, 
and,  instead  of  having  recourse  to  observations  upon 
the  weather,  or  hackneyed  criticisms  upon  the  the/ 
atre,  he  entered  readily  into  a  conversation  worthy  a 
man  of  sense  to  speak,  and  a  lady  of  delicacy  and  sen/ 
timent  to  hear.  He  was  not  strictly  handsome,  but  he 
spoke  the  language  of  sentiment,  and  his  eyes  looked 
tenderness  and  honour. 

CHARLOTTE.  Oh !  [eagerly]  you  sentimental,  grave 
girls,  when  your  hearts  are  once  touched,  beat  us  rattles 
a  bar's  length.  And  so  you  are  quite  in  love  with  this 
he /angel  ? 

MARIA.  In  love  with  him !  How  can  you  rattle  so, 
Charlotte  ?  am  I  not  going  to  be  miserable  ?  [Sighs.] 
In  love  with  a  gentleman  I  never  saw  but  one  hour  in 
my  life,  and  don't  know  his  name !  No ;  I  only  wished 
that  the  man  I  shall  marry  may  look,  and  talk,  and 
act,  just  like  him.  Besides,  my  dear,  he  is  a  married 
man. 

CHARLOTTE.  Why,  that  was  good/natured— he 
told  you  so,  I  suppose,  in  mere  charity,  to  prevent  you 
falling  in  love  with  him  ? 

MARIA.  He  didn't  tell  me  so ;  [peevishly]  he  looked 
as  if  he  was  married. 

CHARLOTTE.  How,  my  dear ;  did  he  look  sheepish? 

MARIA.  I  am  sure  he  has  a  susceptible  heart,  and 


THE  CONTRAST  89 

the  ladies  of  his  acquaintance  must  be  very  stupid  not 
to— 

CHARLOTTE.  Hush !  I  hear  some  person  coming. 

Snter  LETITIA 

LETITIA.  My  dear  Maria,  I  am  happy  to  see  you. 
Lud !  what  a  pity  it  is  that  you  have  purchased  your 
wedding  clothes. 

MARIA.  I  think  so.  [&£&*§> 

LETITIA.  Why,  my  dear,  there  is  the  sweetest  par' 
eel  of  silks  come  over  you  ever  saw !  Nancy  Brilliant 
has  a  full  suit  come ;  she  sent  over  her  measure,  and  it 
fits  her  to  a  hair ;  it  is  immensely  dressy,  and  made  for 
a  court/hoop.  I  thought  they  said  the  large  hoops  were 
going  out  of  fashion. 

CHARLOTTE.  Did  you  see  the  hat  ?  Is  it  a  fact  that 
the  deep  laces  round  the  border  is  still  the  fashion  ? 

DIMPLE  [within].  Upon  my  honour,  Sir. 

MARIA.  Ha !  Dimple's  voice !  My  dear,  I  must 
take  leave  of  you.  There  are  some  things  necessary 
to  be  done  at  our  house.  Can't  I  go  through  the  other 
room  ? 

Enter  DIMPLE  and  MANLY 

DIMPLE.  Ladies,  your  most  obedient. 

CHARLOTTE.  Miss  Van  Rough,  shall  I  present  my 
brother  Henry  to  you?  Colonel  Manly,  Maria, — 
Miss  Van  Rough,  brother. 


90  THE  CONTRAST 

MARIA.  Her  brother!  [Turns  and  sees  MANLY.] 
Oh !  my  heart !  the  very  gentleman  I  have  been  prais/ 
ing. 

MANLY.  The  same  amiable  girl  I  saw  this  morning ! 

CHARLOTTE.  Why,  you  look  as  if  you  were  ac/ 
quainted. 

MANLY.  I  unintentionally  intruded  into  this  lady's 
presence  this  morning,  for  which  she  was  so  good  as 
to  promise  me  her  forgiveness. 

CHARLOTTE.  Oh!  ho!  is  that  the  case!  Have  these 
two  penserosos  been  together  ?  Were  they  Henry's  eyes 
that  looked  so  tenderly  ?  \^/fside.\  And  so  you  pronv 
ised  to  pardon  him  ?  and  could  you  be  so  good/natured  P 
have  you  really  forgiven  him  ?  I  beg  you  would  do  it  for 
my  sake  ['whispering  loud  to  MARIA].  But,  my  dear,  as 
you  are  in  such  haste,  it  would  be  cruel  to  detain  you ; 
I  can  show  you  the  way  through  the  other  room. 

MARIA.  Spare  me,  my  sprightly  friend. 

MANLY.  The  lady  does  not,  I  hope,  intend  to  de/ 
prive  us  of  the  pleasure  of  her  company  so  soon. 

CHARLOTTE.  She  has  only  a  mantua/maker  who 
waits  for  her  at  home.  But,  as  I  am  to  give  my  opin/ 
ion  of  the  dress,  I  think  she  cannot  go  yet.  We  were 
talking  of  the  fashions  when  you  came  in,  but  I  sup/ 
pose  the  subject  must  be  changed  to  something  of 
more  importance  now.  Mr.  Dimple,  will  you  favour 
us  with  an  account  of  the  public  entertainments  ? 


THE  CONTRAST  91 

DIMPLE.  Why,  really,  Miss  Manly,  you  could  not 
have  asked  me  a  question  more  malapropos.  For  my 
part,  I  must  confess  that,  to  a  man  who  has  travelled, 
there  is  nothing  that  is  worthy  the  name  of  amuse' 
ment  to  be  found  in  this  city. 

CHARLOTTE.  Except  visiting  the  ladies. 

DIMPLE.  Pardon  me,  Madam ;  that  is  the  avoca/ 
tion  of  a  man  of  taste.  But  for  amusement,  I  posi/ 
tively  know  of  nothing  that  can  be  called  so,  unless 
you  dignify  with  that  title  the  hopping  once  a  fort/ 
night  to  the  sound  of  two  or  three  squeaking  fiddles, 
and  the  clattering  of  the  old  tavern  windows,  or  sit/ 
ting  to  see  the  miserable  mummers,  whom  you  call 
actors,  murder  comedy  and  make  a  farce  of  tragedy. 

MANLY.  Do  you  never  attend  the  theatre,  Sir  ? 

DIMPLE.  I  was  tortured  there  once. 

CHARLOTTE.  Pray,  Mr.  Dimple,  was  it  a  tragedy 
or  a  comedy? 

DIMPLE.  Faith,  Madam,  I  cannot  tell;  forlsatwith 
my  back  to  the  stage  all  the  time,  admiring  a  much 
better  actress  than  any  there — a  lady  who  played  the'!   J 
fine  woman  to  perfection;  though,  by  the  laugh  of  J 
the  horrid  creatures  round  me,  I  suppose  it  was  com/ 
edy.  Yet,  on  second  thoughts,  it  might  be  some  hero 
in  a  tragedy,  dying  so  comically  as  to  set  the  whole 
house  in  an  uproar.  Colonel,  I  presume  you  have  been 
in  Europe  ? 


92  THE  CONTRAST 

MANLY.  Indeed,  Sir,  I  was  never  ten  leagues  from 
the  continent. 

DIMPLE.  Believe  me,  Colonel,  you  have  an  inv 
mense  pleasure  to  come ;  and  when  you  shall  have  seen 
the  brilliant  exhibitions  of  Europe, you  will  learn  to 
despise  the  amusements  of  this  country  as  much  as  I 
do. 

MANLY.  Therefore  I  do  not  wish  to  see  them ;  for 
I  can  never  esteem  that  knowledge  valuable  which 
tends  to  give  me  a  distaste  for  my  native  country. 

DIMPLE.  Well,  Colonel,  though  you  have  not  traw 
elled,  you  have  read. 

MANLY.  I  have,  a  little ;  and  by  it  have  discovered 
that  there  is  a  laudable  partiality  which  ignorant,  un/ 
travelled  men  entertain  for  everything  that  belongs 
to  their  native  country.  I  call  it  laudable  ;  it  injures 
no  one ;  adds  to  their  own  happiness ;  and,  when  ex' 
tended,  becomes  the  noble  principle  of  patriotism. 
Travelled  gentlemen  rise  superior,  in  their  own  opin' 
ion,  to  this ;  but  if  the  contempt  which  they  contract 
for  their  country  is  the  most  valuable  acquisition  of 
their  travels,  I  am  far  from  thinking  that  their  time 
and  money  are  well  spent. 

MARIA.  What  noble  sentiments ! 

CHARLOTTE  .  Let  my  brother  set  out  where  he  will 
in  the  fields  of  conversation,  he  is  sure  to  end  his  tour 
in  the  temple  of  gravity. 


THE  CONTRAST  93 

MANLY.  Forgive  me,  my  sister.  I  love  my  coun' 
try ;  it  has  its  foibles  undoubtedly ; — some  foreigners 
will  with  pleasure  remark  them — but  such  remarks 
fall  very  ungracefully  from  the  lips  of  her  citizens. 

DIMPLE.  You  are  perfectly  in  the  right,  Colonel 
— America  has  her  faults. 

MANLY.  Yes,  Sir ;  and  we,  her  children,  should 
blush  for  them  in  private,  and  endeavour,  as  individ' 
uals,  to  reform  them.  But,  if  our  country  has  its  er' 
rors  in  common  with  other  countries,  I  am  proud  to 
say  America — I  mean  the  United  States — has  dis/ 
played  virtues  and  achievements  which  modern  na/ 
tions  may  admire,  but  of  which  they  have  seldom  set 
us  the  example. 

CHARLOTTE.  But,  brother,  we  must  introduce  you 
to  some  of  our  gay  folks,  and  let  you  see  the  city,  such 
as  it  is.  Mr.  Dimple  is  known  to  almost  every  family 
in  town ;  he  will  doubtless  take  a  pleasure  in  intro' 
ducing  you  ? 

DIMPLE.  I  shall  esteem  every  service  I  can  render 
your  brother  an  honour. 

MANLY.  I  fear  the  business  I  am  upon  will  take 
up  all  my  time,  and  my  family  will  be  anxious  to  hear 
from  me. 

MARIA.  His  family !  but  what  is  it  to  me  that  he 
is  married !  [^/fside.]  Pray,  how  did  you  leave  your 
lady,  Sir? 


^ 


94  THE  CONTRAST 

CHARLOTTE.  My  brother  is  not  married  [observing 
her  anxiety] ;  it  is  only  an  odd  way  he  has  of  express/ 
ing  himself.  Pray,  brother,  is  this  business,  which  you 
make  your  continual  excuse,  a  secret? 

MANLY.  No,  sister ;  I  came  hither  to  solicit  the 
honourable  Congress,  that  a  number  of  my  brave  old 
soldiers  may  be  put  upon  the  pension/list,  who  were, 
at  first,  not  judged  to  be  so  materially  wounded  as  to 
need  the  public  assistance.  My  sister  says  true  [to  MA/ 
RIA]  :  I  call  my  late  soldiers  my  family.  Those  who 
were  not  in  the  field  in  the  late  glorious  contest,  and 
those  who  were,  have  their  respective  merits;  but,  I 
confess,  my  old  brother/soldiers  are  dearer  to  me  than 
the  former  description.  Friendships  made  in  adver/ 
sity  are  lasting ;  our  countrymen  may  forget  us,  but 
that  is  no  reason  why  we  should  forget  one  another. 
But  I  must  leave  you ;  my  time  of  engagement  ap' 
proaches. 

CHARLOTTE.  Well,  but,  brother,  if  you  will  go, 
will  you  please  to  conduct  my  fair  friend  home  ?  You 

live  in  the  same  street I  was  to  have  gone  with 

her  myself —  [^4 side.]  A  lucky  thought. 

MARIA.  I  am  obliged  to  your  sister,  Sir,  and  was 
just  intending  to  go.  ]§°in& 

MANLY.  I  shall  attend  her  with  pleasure. 

[Exit  with  MARIA,  followed  by  DIMPLE  and 
CHARLOTTE. 


THE  CONTRAST  95 

MARIA.  Now,  pray,  don't  betray  me  to  your  bro' 
ther. 

CHARLOTTE.  [Just  as  she  sees  him  make  a  motion 
to  take  his  leave.]  One  word  with  you,  brother,  if  you 
please.  [Follows  them  out. 

[Manenfj  DIMPLE  and  LETITIA. 

DIMPLE.  You  received  the  billet  I  sent  you,  I  pre/ 
sume  ? 

LETITIA.  Hush! — Yes. 

DIMPLE.  When  shall  I  pay  my  respects  to  you? 

LETITIA.  At  eight  I  shall  be  unengaged. 

T(eenter  CHARLOTTE 

DIMPLE.  Did  my  lovely  angel  receive  my  billet? 
[T0  CHARLOTTE.] 

CHARLOTTE.  Yes. 

DIMPLE.  What  hour  shall  I  expect  with  impa' 
tience  ? 

CHARLOTTE.  At  eight  I  shall  be  at  home  unen/ 
gaged. 

DIMPLE.  Unfortunate!  I  have  a  horrid  engage' 
ment  of  business  at  that  hour.  Can't  you  finish  your 
visit  earlier  and  let  six  be  the  happy  hour  ? 

CHARLOTTE.  You  know  your  influence  over  me. 

[8xeunt  severally. 

* 


96  THE  CONTRAST 

SCENE  II 
VAN  ROUGH'S  House 

VAN  ROUGH  [alone].  It  cannot  possibly  be  true ! 
The  son  of  my  old  friend  can't  have  acted  so  unad/ 
visedly.  Seventeen  thousand  pounds !  in  bills !  Mr. 
Transfer  must  have  been  mistaken.  He  always  ap/ 
peared  so  prudent,  and  talked  so  well  upon  money 
matters,  and  even  assured  me  that  he  intended  to 
change  his  dress  for  a  suit  of  clothes  which  would 
not  cost  so  much,  and  look  more  substantial,  as  soon 
as  he  married.  No,  no,  no !  it  can't  be ;  it  cannot  be. 
But,  however,  I  must  look  out  sharp.  I  did  not  care 
what  his  principles  or  his  actions  were,  so  long  as  he 
minded  the  main  chance.  Seventeen  thousand  pounds! 
If  he  had  lost  it  in  trade,  why  the  best  men  may  have 
ill/luck ;  but  to  game  it  away,  as  Transfer  says — why, 
at  this  rate,  tiis  whole  estate  may  go  in  one  night,  and, 
what  is  ten  times  worse,  mine  into  trie  bargain.  No, 
no ;  Mary  is  right.  Leave  women  to  look  out  in  these 

Etters;  for  all  they  look  as  if  they  didn't  know  a 
rnal  from  a  ledger,  when  their  interest  is  con/ 
ned  they  know  what's  what ;  they  mind  the  main 
chance  as  well  as  the  best  of  us.  I  wonder  Mary  did 
not  tell  me  she  knew  of  his  spending  his  money  so 
foolishly.  Seventeen  thousand  pounds!  Why,  if  my 
daughter  was  standing  up  to  be  married,  I  would  for/ 


THE  CONTRAST  97 

bid  the  banns,  if  I  found  it  was  to  a  man  who  did  not 
mind  the  main  chance. — Hush  !  I  hear  somebody 
coming.  'Tis  Mary's  voice ;  a  man  with  her  too !  I 
shouldn't  be  surprised  if  this  should  be  the  other  string 
to  her  bow.  Aye,  aye,  let  them  alone ;  women  under/ 
stand  the  main  chance.  —  Though,  i'  faith,  I'll  listen 
a  little.  Retires  into  a  closet. 

MANLY  leading  in  MARIA 

MANLY.  I  hope  you  will  excuse  my  speaking  upon 
so  important  a  subject  so  abruptly ;  but,  the  moment 
I  entered  your  room,  you  struck  me  as  the  lady  whom 
I  hadlong  loved  in  imagination,and  never  hoped  to  see.__ 

MARIA.  Indeed,  Sir,  I  have  been  led  to  hear  more 
upon  this  subject  than  I  ought. 

MANLY.  Do  you,  then,  disapprove  my  suit,  Madam, 
or  the  abruptness  of  my  introducing  it  ?  If  the  latter, 
my  peculiar  situation,  being  obliged  to  leave  the  city 
in  a  few  days,  will,  I  hope,  be  my  excuse ;  if  the  for/ 
mer,  I  will  retire,  for  I  am  sure  I  would  not  give  a 
moment's  inquietude  to  her  whom  I  could  devote 
my  life  to  please.  I  am  not  so  indelicate  as  to  seek 
your  immediate  approbation  ;  permit  me  only  to  be 
near  you,  and  by  a  thousand  tender  assiduities  to  en/ 
deavour  to  excite  a  grateful  return. 

MARIA.  I  have  a  father,  whom  I  would  die  to  make 
happy;  he  will  disapprove— 


98  THE  CONTRAST 

MANLY.  Do  you  think  me  so  ungenerous  as  to  seek 
a  place  in  your  esteem  without  his  consent  ?  You  must 
—you  ever  ought  to  consider  that  man  as  unworthy 
of  you  who  seeks  an  interest  in  your  heart  contrary  to 
a  father's  approbation.  A  young  lady  should  reflect 
that  the  loss  of  a  lover  may  be  supplied,  but  nothing 
can  compensate  for  the  loss  of  a  parent's  affection. 
Yet,  why  do  you  suppose  your  father  would  disap/ 
prove  ?  In  our  country,  the  affections  are  not  sacrificed 
to  riches  or  family  aggrandizement :  should  you  ap/ 
prove,  my  family  is  decent,  and  my  rank  honourable. 

MARIA.  You  distress  me,  Sir. 

MANLY.  Then  I  will  sincerely  beg  your  excuse  for 
obtruding  so  disagreeable  a  subj  ect ,  and  retire .  [  (^o ing. 

MARIA.  Stay,  Sir !  your  generosity  and  good  opin/ 
ion  of  me  deserve  a  return ;  but  why  must  I  declare 
what,  for  these  few  hours,  I  have  scarce  suffered  my/ 
self  to  think? — I  am— 

MANLY.  What  ? 

MARIA.  Engaged,  Sir ;  and,  in  a  few  days  to  be 
married  to  the  gentleman  you  saw  at  your  sister's. 

MANLY.  Engaged  to  be  married !  And  I  have  been 
basely  invading  the  rights  of  another  ?  Why  have  you 
permitted  this  ?  Is  this  the  return  for  the  partiality  I 
declared  for  you? 

MARIA.  You  distress  me,  Sir.  What  would  you  have 
me  say  ?  you  are  too  generous  to  wish  the  truth .  Ought 


THE  CONTRAST  99 

I  to  say  that  I  dared  not  suffer  myself  to  think  of  my 
engagement,  and  that  I  am  going  to  give  my  hand 
without  my  heart  ?  Would  you  have  me  confess  a  par/ 
tiality  for  you  ?  If  so,  your  triumph  is  compleat,  and 
can  be  only  more  so  when  days  of  misery  wrdrthe  man 
I  cannot  love  will  make  me  think  of  him  whom  I 
could  prefer. 

MANLY  [after  a  pause}.  We  are  both  unhappy ;  but 
it  is  your  duty  to  obey  your  parent — mine  to  obey  my 
honour.  Let  us,  therefore,  both  follow  the  path  of  rec/ 
titude ;  and  of  this  we  may  be  assured,  that  if  we  are 
not  happy,  we  shall,  at  least,  deserve  to  be  so.  Adieu ! 
I  dare  not  trust  myself  longer  with  you. 

[Exeunt  severally. 


END  OF  THE  FOURTH  ACT 


ACT  V.    SCENE  I 

DIMPLE'S  Lodgings 
JESSAMY  meeting  JONATHAN 

JESSAMY.  Well,  Mr.  Jonathan,  what  success  with 
the  fair  ? 

JONATHAN.  Why,  such  a  tarnal  cross  tike  you  never 
saw !  You  would  have  counted  she  had  lived  upon 
cratvapples  and  vinegar  for  a  fortnight.  But  what  the 
rattle  makes  you  look  so  tarnation  glum? 

JESSAMY.  I  was  thinking,  Mr.  Jonathan,  what  could 
be  the  reason  of  her  carrying  herself  so  coolly  to  you. 

JONATHAN.  Coolly,  do  you  call  it  ?  Why,  I  vow,  she 
was  fire'hot  angry :  may  be  it  was  because  I  buss'd  her. 

JESSAMY.  No,  no,  Mr.  Jonathan;  there  must  be 
some  other  cause ;  I  never  yet  knew  a  lady  angry  at  be/ 
ing  kissed. 

JONATHAN.  Well,  if  it  is  not  the  young  woman's 
bashfulness,  I  vow  I  can't  conceive  why  she  shouldn't 
like  me. 

JESSAMY.  May  be  it  is  because  you  have  not  the 
i  Graces,  Mr.  Jonathan. 

JONATHAN.  Grace !  Why,  does  the  young  wroman 
expect  I  must  be  converted  before  I  court  her  ? 

JESSAMY.  Imean  graces  of  person:  for  instance,  my 


THE  CONTRAST 

lord  tells  us  that  we  must  cut  off  our  nails  even  at  top, 
in  small  segments  of  circles  — though  you  won't  un/ 
der stand  that ;  in  the  next  place,  you  must  regulate 
your  laugh. 

JONATHAN.  Maple/log  seize  it !  don't  I  laugh  nat/ 
ural? 

JESSAMY.  That's  the  very  fault,  Mr.  Jonathan.  Be/ 
sides,  you  absolutely  misplace  it.  I  was  told  by  a  friend 
of  mine  that  you  laughed  outright  at  the  play  the 
other  night,  when  you  ought  only  to  have  tittered. 

JONATHAN.  Gor !  I — what  does  one  go  to  see  fun 
for  if  they  can't  laugh. 

JESSAMY.  You  may  laugh ;  but  you  must  laugh  by  1    r** 
rule. 

JONATHAN.  Swamp  it — laugh  by  rule  !  Well,  I 
should  like  that  tarnally. 

JESSAMY.  Why,  you  know,  Mr.  Jonathan,  that  to 
dance ,  a  lady  to  play  with  her  fan,  or  a  gentleman  with 
his  cane,  and  all  other  natural  motions,  are  regulated 
by  art.  My  master  has  composed  an  immensely  pretty 
gamut,  by  which  any  lady  or  gentleman,  with  a  few 
years'  close  application,  may  learn  to  laugh  as  grace/ 
fully  as  if  they  were  born  and  bred  to  it. 

JONATHAN.  Mercy  on  my  soul !  A  gamut  for  laugh/ 
ing — just  like  fa,  la,  sol  ?  ] 

JESSAMY.  Yes.  It  comprises  every  possible  display 
of  jocularity,  from  an  affettuoso  smile  to  a  piano  titter, 


ica  THE  CONTRAST 

or  full  chorus  fortissimo  ha,  ha,  ha!  My  master  em/ 
ploys  his  leisure  hours  in  marking  out  the  plays,  like  a 
cathedral  chanting'book,  that  the  ignorant  may  know 
where  to  laugh;  and  that  pit,  box,  and  gallery  may 
keep  time  together,  and  not  have  a  snigger  in  one  part 

of  the  house,  abroad  grin  in  the  other,  and  a  d d 

grum  look  in  the  third.  How  delightful  to  see  the  au/ 
dience  all  smile  together,  then  look  on  their  books, 
then  twist  their  mouths  into  an  agreeable  simper,  then 
altogether  shake  the  house  with  a  general  ha,  ha,  ha! 
loud  as  a  full  chorus  of  Handel's  at  an  Abbey  com' 
memoration. 

JONATHAN.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  that's  dang'd  cute,  I  swear. 

JESS  AMY.  The  gentlemen,  you  see,  will  laugh  the 
tenor ;  the  ladies  will  play  the  counter-tenor ;  the  beaux 
will  squeak  the  treble ;  and  our  jolly  friends  in  the  gal/ 
lery  a  thorough  base,  ho,  ho,  ho! 

JONATHAN.  Well,  can't  you  let  me  see  that  gamut  ? 

JESSAMY.  Oh !  yes,  Mr.  Jonathan;  here  it  is  [Takes 
out  a  book.]  Oh !  no,  this  is  only  a  titter  with  its  va/ 
riations.  Ah,  here  it  is.  [  Takes  out  another.]  Now,  you 
must  know,  Mr.  Jonathan,  this  is  a  piece  written  by 
Ben  Johnson,  which  I  have  set  to  my  master's  gamut. 
The  places  where  you  must  smile,  look  grave,  or  laugh 
outright,  are  marked  below  the  line.  Now  look  over 
me.  "There  was  a  certain  man"  —now  you  must 
smile. 


THE  CONTRAST  103 

JONATHAN.  Well,  read  it  again ;  I  warrant  Til  mind 
my  eye. 

JE  SSAMY.  *  *  There  was  a  certain  man,  who  had  a  sad 
scolding  wife,"  — now  you  must  laugh. 

JONATHAN.  Tarnation !  That's  no  laughing  matter 
though. 

JESSAMY.  "  Andshe  lay  sick  a/dying"; — nowyou 
must  titter. 

JONATHAN.  What,  snigger  when  the  good  woman's 
a'dying!  Gor,  I- 

JESSAMY.  Yes,  the  notes  say  you  must — "and  she 
asked  her  husband  leave  to  make  a  will," — nowyou 
must  begin  to  look  grave ; ' '  and  her  husband  said" 

JONATHAN.  Ay,  what  did  her  husband  say?  Some/ 
thing  dang'd  cute,  I  reckon. 

JESSAMY.  "And  her  husband  said,  you  have  had 
your  will  all  your  life'time,  and  would  you  have  it 
after  you  are  dead,  too  ? " 

JONATHAN.  Ho,  ho,  ho !  There  the  old  man  was 
even  with  her ;  he  was  up  to  the  notch  —  ha,  ha,  ha ! 

JESSAMY.  But,  Mr.  Jonathan,  you  must  not  laugh 
so.  Why  you  ought  to  have  tittered  piano,  and  you 
have  laughed  fortissimo.  Look  here ;  you  see  these 
marks,  A,  B,  C,  and  so  on;  these  are  the  references  to 
the  other  part  of  the  book.  Let  us  turn  to  it,  and  you 
will  see  the  directions  how  to  manage  the  muscles. 
This  [turns  over]  was  note  D  you  blundered  at. —  You 


104  THE  CONTRAST 

must  purse  the  mouth  into  a  smile,  then  titter,  disco v/ 
ering  the  lower  part  of  the  three  front  upper  teeth. 

JONATHAN.  How  ?  read  it  again. 

JESSAMY.  "There  was  a  certain  man"  —  very 
well ! — '  *  who  had  a  sad  scolding  wife," — why  don't 
you  laugh  ? 

JONATHAN.  Now,  that  scolding  wife  sticks  in  my 
gizzard  so  pluckily  that  I  can't  laugh  for  the  blood 
and  nowns  of  me.  Let  me  look  grave  here,  and  I'll 
laugh  your  belly  full,  where  the  old  creature's  a'dy 
ing. 

JESSAMY.  "And  she  asked  her  husband"  —  [Bell 
rings.]  My  master's  bell !  he's  returned,  I  fear. — Here, 
Mr.  Jonathan,  take  this  gamut ;  and  I  make  no  doubt 
but  with  a  few  years'  close  application,  you  may  be 
able  to  smile  gracefully.  \Gxeunt  severally. 

SCENE  II 
CHARLOTTE'S  Apartment 

8nter  MANLY 

MANLY.  What,  no  one  at  home?  How  unfortu/ 
nate  to  meet  the  only  lady  my  heart  was  ever  moved 
by,  to  find  her  engaged  to  another,  and  confessing  her 
partiality  for  me !  Yet  engaged  to  a  man  who,  by  her 
intimation,  and  his  libertine  conversation  with  me,  I 
fear,  does  not  merit  her.  Aye !  there's  the  sting ;  for, 


THE  CONTRAST  105 

were  I  assured  that  Maria  was  happy,  my  heart  is  not 
so  selfish  but  that  it  would  dilate  in  knowing  it,  even 
though  it  were  with  another.  But  to  know  she  is  un/ 
happy! — I  must  drive  these  thoughts  from  me. 
Charlotte  has  some  books ;  and  this  is  what  I  believe 
she  calls  her  little  library.  [Enters  a  closet. 

Enter  DIMPLE  leading  LETITIA 

LETITIA.  And  will  you  pretend  to  say  now,  Mr. 
Dimple,  that  you  propose  to  break  with  Maria?  Are 
not  the  banns  published?  Are  not  the  clothes  pur-' 
chased?  Are  not  the  friends  invited?  In  short,  is  it 
not  a  done  affair  ? 

DIMPLE.  Believe  me,  my  dear  Letitia,  I  would  not 
marry  her. 

LETITIA.  Why  have  you  not  broke  with  her  be/ 
fore  this,  as  you  all  along  deluded  me  by  saying  you 
would  ? 

DIMPLE.  Because  I  was  in  hopes,  she  would,  ere 
this,  have  broke  with  me. 

LETITIA.  You  could  not  expect  it. 

DIMPLE.  Nay,  but  be  calm  a  moment ;  'twas  from 
my  regard  to  you  that  I  did  not  discard  her. 

LETITIA.  Regard  to  me ! 

DIMPLE.  Yes ;  I  have  done  everything  in  my  power 
to  break  with  her,  but  the  foolish  girl  is  so  fond  of 
me  that  nothing  can  accomplish  it.  Besides,  how  can 


106  THE  CONTRAST 

I  offer  her  my  hand  when  my  heart  is  indissolubly  en/ 
gaged  to  you  ? 

LETITIA.  There  may  be  reason  in  this ;  but  why  so 
attentive  to  Miss  Manly? 

DIMPLE.  Attentive  to  Miss  Manly!  For  heaven's 
sake,  if  you  have  no  better  opinion  of  my  constancy, 
pay  not  so  ill  a  compliment  to  my  taste. 

LETITIA.  Did  I  not  see  you  whisper  her  to'day? 

DIMPLE.  Possibly  I  might — but  something  of  so 
very  trifling  a  nature  that  I  have  already  forgot  what 
it  was. 

LETITIA.  I  believe  she  has  not  forgot  it. 

DIMPLE.  My  dear  creature,  how  can  you  for  a  mo/ 
ment  suppose  I  should  have  any  serious  thoughts 
of  that  trifling,  gay,  flighty  coquette,  that  disagree/ 
able- 

&nter  CHARLOTTE 

My  dear  Miss  Manly,  I  rejoice  to  see  you ;  there 
is  a  charm  in  your  conversation  that  always  marks 
your  entrance  into  company  as  fortunate. 

LETITIA.  Where  have  you  been,  my  dear  ? 

CHARLOTTEo  Why,  I  have  been  about  to  twenty 
shops,  turning  over  pretty  things,  and  so  have  left 
twenty  visits  unpaid.  I  wish  you  would  step  into 
the  carriage  and  whisk  round,  make  my  apology, 
and  leave  my  cards  where  our  friends  are  not  at 


THE  CONTRAST  107 

home ;  that,  you  know,  will  serve  as  a  visit.  Come, 
do  go. 

LETITIA.  So  anxious  to  get  me  out !  but  I'll  watch 
you.  [(^4 side.]  Oh !  yes,  I'll  go ;  I  want  a  little  exer/ 
cise.  Positively  [DIMPLE  offering  to  accompany  her], 
Mr.  Dimple,  you  shall  not  go;  why,  half  my  visits 
are  cake  and  candle  visits ;  it  won't  do,  you  know,  for 
you  to  go. 

[Exit,  but  returns  to  the  door  in  the  back  scene  and 
listens. 

DIMPLE  .  This  attachment  of  your  brother  to  Maria 
is  fortunate. 

CHARLOTTE  .  How  did  you  come  to  the  knowledge 
of  it? 

DIMPLE.  I  read  it  in  their  eyes. 

CHARLOTTE.  And  I  had  it  from  her  mouth.  It 
would  have  amused  you  to  have  seen  her !  She,  that 
thought  it  so  great  an  impropriety  to  praise  a  gentle/ 
man  that  she  could  not  bring  out  one  word  in  your 
favour,  found  a  redundancy  to  praise  him. 

DIMPLE.  I  have  done  everything  in  my  power  to 
assist  his  passion  there:  your  delicacy,  my  dearest 
girl,  would  be  shocked  at  half  the  instances  of  neg/ 
lect  and  misbehaviour. 

CHARLOTTE.  I  don't  know  how  I  should  bear  neg/ 
lect ;  but  Mr.  Dimple  must  misbehave  himself  in/ 
deed,  to  forfeit  my  good  opinion. 


io8  THE  CONTRAST 

DIMPLE.  Your  good  opinion,  my  angel,  is  the  pride 
and  pleasure  of  my  heart ;  and  if  the  most  respectful 
tenderness  for  you,  and  an  utter  indifference  for  all 
your  sex  besides,  can  make  me  worthy  of  your  esteem, 
I  shall  richly  merit  it. 

CHARLOTTE.  All  my  sex  besides,  Mr.  Dimple !  — 
you  forgot  your  tete/a'tete  with  Letitia. 

DIMPLE.  How  can  you,  my  lovely  angel,  cast  a 
thought  on  that  insipid,  wrymouthed,  ugly  creature ! 

CHARLOTTE.  But  her  fortune  may  have  charms. 

DIMPLE.  Not  to  a  heart  like  mine.  The  man,  who 
has  been  blessed  with  the  good  opinion  of  my  Char' 
lotte,  must  despise  the  allurements  of  fortune. 

CHARLOTTE.  I  am  satisfied. 

DIMPLE.  Let  us  think  no  more  on  the  odious  sub/ 
ject,  but  devote  the  present  hour  to  happiness. 

CHARLOTTE.  Can  I  be  happy,  when  I  see  the  man 
I  prefer  going  to  be  married  to  another  ? 

DIMPLE.  Have  I  not  already  satisfied  my  charming 
angel,  that  I  can  never  think  of  marrying  the  puling 
Maria?  But,  even  if  it  were  so,  could  that  be  any  bar 
to  our  happiness  ?  for,  as  the  poet  sings, 

"  Love,  free  as  air,  at  sight  of  human  ties, 
Spreads  his  light  wings,  and  in  a  moment  flies. ' ' 

Come,  then,  my  charming  angel!  why  delay  our 
bliss  ?  The  present  moment  is  ours ;  the  next  is  in  the 
hand  of  fate.  [Qf***g  her. 


THE  CONTRAST  109 

CHARLOTTE.  Begone,  Sir !  By  your  delusions  you 
had  almost  lulled  my  honour  asleep. 

DIMPLE.  Let  me  lull  the  demon  to  sleep  again 
with  kisses.  [He  struggles  with  her ;  she  screams. 

Enter  MANLY 

MANLY.  Turn,  villain !  and  defend  yourself.  - 

[Draws. 

VAN  ROUGH  enters  and  beats  down  their  swords 

VAN  ROUGH.  Is  the  devil  in  you?  are  you  going  to 
murder  one  another  ?  [Holding  DIMPLE. 

DIMPLE.  Hold  him,  hold  him, — I  can  command 
my  passion. 

Enter  JONATHAN 

JONATHAN.  What  the  rattle  ails  you  ?  Is  the  old 
one  in  you  ?  Let  the  colonel  alone,  can't  you  ?  I  feel 
chock/full  of  fight,  —  do  you  want  to  kill  the  col/ 
onel? 

MANLY.  Be  still,  Jonathan ;  the  gentleman  does 
not  want  to  hurt  me. 

JONATHAN.  Gor !  I — I  wish  he  did ;  I'd  shew  him 
Yankee  boys  play,  pretty  quick.  —  Don't  you  see  you 
have  frightened  the  young  woman  into  the  hy strikes  ? 

VAN  ROUGH.  Pray,  some  of  you  explain  this;  what 
has  been  the  occasion  of  all  this  racket  ? 

MANLY.  That  gentleman  can  explain  it  to  you ;  it 


no  THE  CONTRAST 

will  be  a  very  diverting  story  for  an  intended  father/ 
in/law  to  hear. 

VAN  ROUGH.  How  was  this  matter,  Mr.  Van 
Dumpling  ? 

DIMPLE.  Sir, — upon  my  honour, — all  I  know  is, 
that  I  was  talking  to  this  young  lady,  and  this  gentle/ 
man  broke  in  on  us  in  a  very  extraordinary  manner. 

VAN  ROUGH.  Why,  all  this  is  nothing  to  the  pur/ 
pose;  can  you  explain  it,  Miss?  [To  CHARLOTTE. 

Enter  LETITIA  through  the  back  scene 

LETITIA.  I  can  explain  it  to  that  gentleman's  con/ 
fusion.  Though  long  betrothed  to  your  daughter  [to 
VAN  ROUGH],  yet,  allured  by  my  fortune,  it  seems 
(with  shame  do  I  speak  it)  he  has  privately  paid  his 
addresses  to  me.  I  was  drawn  in  to  listen  to  him  by  his 
assuring  me  that  the  match  was  made  by  his  father 
without  his  consent,  and  that  he  proposed  to  break 
with  Maria,  whether  he  married  me  or  not.  But, 
whatever  were  his  intentions  respecting  your  daugh/ 
ter,  Sir,  even  to  me  he  was  false ;  for  he  has  repeated 
the  same  story,  with  some  cruel  reflections  upon  my 
person,  to  Miss  Manly. 

JONATHAN.  What  a  tarnal  curse ! 

LETITIA.  Nor  is  this  all,  Miss  Manly.  When  he 
was  with  me  this  very  morning,  he  made  the  same  un/ 
generous  reflections  upon  the  weakness  of  your  mind 


THE  CONTRAST  in 

as  he  has  so  recently  done  upon  the  defects  of  my 
person. 

JONATHAN.  What  a  tarnal  curse  and  damn,  too. 

DIMPLE.  Ha !  since  I  have  lost  Letitia,  I  believe  I 
had  as  good  make  it  up  with  Maria.  Mr.  Van  Rough, 
at  present  I  cannot  enter  into  particulars ;  but,  I  be' 
lieve,  I  can  explain  everything  to  your  satisfaction  in 
private. 

VAN  ROUGH.  There  is  another  matter,  Mr.  Van 
Dumpling,  which  I  would  have  you  explain.  Pray, 
Sir,  have  Messrs.  Van  Cash  &  Co.  presented  you  those 
bills  for  acceptance  ? 

DIMPLE.  The  deuce !  Has  he  heard  of  those  bills ! 
Nay,  then,  all's  up  with  Maria,  too ;  but  an  affair  of 
this  sort  can  never  prejudice  me  among  the  ladies ; 
they  will  rather  long  to  know  what  the  dear  creature 
possesses  to  make  him  so  agreeable.  \^Aside.\  Sir, 
you'll  hear  from  me.  [To  MANLY. 

MANLY.  And  you  from  me,  Sir— 

DIMPLE.  Sir,  you  wear  a  sword  - 

MANLY.  Yes,  Sir.  This  sword  was  presented  to  me 
by  that  brave  Gallic  hero,  the  Marquis  De  la  Fayette. 
I  have  drawn  it  in  the  service  of  my  country,  and  in 
private  life,  on  the  only  occasion  where  a  man  is  jus/ 
tified  in  drawing  his  sword,  in  defence  of  a  lady's  hon/ 
our.  I  have  fought  too  many  battles  in  the  service  of 
my  country  to  dread  the  imputation  of  cowardice. 


H2  THE  CONTRAST 

Death  from  a  man  of  honour  would  be  a  glory  you  do 
not  merit ;  you  shall  live  to  bear  the  insult  of  man 
and  the  contempt  of  that  sex  whose  general  smiles 
afforded  you  all  your  happiness. 

DIMPLE.  You  won't  meet  me,  Sir?  Then  I'll  post 
you  for  a  coward. 

MANLY.  I'll  venture  that,  Sir.  The  reputation  of 
my  life  does  not  depend  upon  the  breath  of  a  Mr. 
Dimple.  I  would  have  you  to  know,  however,  Sir, 
that  I  have  a  cane  to  chastise  the  insolence  of  a  scoun' 
drel,  and  a  sword  and  the  good  laws  of  my  country  to 
protect  me  from  the  attempts  of  an  assassin— 

DIMPLE.  Mighty  well !  Very  fine,  indeed !  Ladies 
and  gentlemen,  I  take  my  leave ;  and  you  will  please 
to  observe  in  the  case  of  my  deportment  the  contrast 
between  a  gentleman  who  has  read  Chesterfield  and 
received  the  polish  of  Europe  and  an  unpolished,  un/ 
travelled  American.  [£xit. 


Enter  MARIA 

MARIA.  Is  he  indeed  gone?- 

LETITIA.  I  hope,  never  to  return. 

VAN  ROUGH.  I  am  glad  I  heard  of  those  bills; 
though  it's  plaguy  unlucky ;  I  hoped  to  see  Mary  mar/ 
ried  before  I  died. 

MANLY.  Will  you  permit  a  gentleman,  Sir,  to  offer 
himself  as  a  suitor  to  your  daughter  ?  Though  a  stran/ 


THE  CONTRAST  113 

ger  to  you,  he  is  not  altogether  so  to  her,  or  unknown 
in  this  city.  You  may  find  a  son/in/law  of  more  for/ 
tune,  but  you  can  never  meet  with  one  who  is  richer 
in  love  for  her,  or  respect  for  you. 

VAN  ROUGH.  Why,  Mary;  you  have  not  let  this 
gentleman  make  love  to  you  without  my  leave  ? 

MANLY.  I  did  not  say,  Sir 

MARIA.  Say,  Sir!-  —I — the  gentleman,  to  be 
sure,  met  me  accidentally. 

VAN  ROUGH.  Ha,  ha,  ha !  Mark  me,  Mary ;  young 
folks  think  old  folks  to  be  fools ;  but  old  folks  know 
young  folks  to  be  fools.  Why,  I  knew  all  about  this 
affair.  This  was  only  a  cunning  way  I  had  to  bring  it 
about.  Hark  ye !  I  was  in  the  closet  when  you  and  he 
were  at  our  house.  [Turns  to  the  company.]  I  heard  that 
little  baggage  say  she  loved  her  old  father,  and  would 
die  to  make  him  happy !  Oh !  how  I  loved  the  little 
baggage !  And  you  talked  very  prudently,  young  man. 
I  have  inquired  into  your  character,  and  find  you  to 
be  a  man  of  punctuality  and  mind  the  main  chance. 
And  so,  as  you  love  Mary  and  Mary  loves  you,  you  shall 
have  my  consent  immediately  to  be  married.  I'll  settle 
my  fortune  on  you,  and  go  and  live  with  you-  the  re/ 
mainder  of  my  life. 

MANLY.  Sir,  I  hope 

VAN  ROUGH.  Come ,  come,  no  fine  speeches;  mind 
the  main  chance,  young  man,  and  you  and  I  shall 
always  agree. 


ii4  THE  CONTRAST 

LETITIA.  I  sincerely  wish  you  joy  [advancing  to 
MARIA]  ;  and  hope  your  pardon  for  my  conduct. 

MARIA.  I  thank  you  for  your  congratulations,  and 
hope  we  shall  at  once  forget  the  wretch  who  has  given 
us  so  much  disquiet,  and  the  trouble  that  he  has  oc' 
casioned. 

CHARLOTTE.  And  I,  my  dear  Maria, — how  shall  I 
look  up  to  you  for  forgiveness  ?  I,  who,  in  the  practice 
of  the  meanest  arts,  have  violated  the  most  sacred  rights 
of  friendship  ?  I  never  can  forgive  myself,  or  hope 
charity  from  the  world ;  but,  I  confess,  I  have  much 
to  hope  from  such  a  brother ;  and  I  am  happy  that  I 
may  soon  say,  such  a  sister. 

MARIA.  My  dear,  you  distress  me  ;  you  have  all  my 
love. 

MANLY.  And  mine. 

CHARLOTTE.  If  repentance  can  entitle  me  to  for' 
giveness,  I  have  already  much  merit ;  for  I  despise  the 
littleness  of  my  past  conduct.  I  now  find  that  the  heart 
of  any  worthy  man  cannot  be  gained  by  invidious  at' 
tacks  upon  the  rights  and  characters  of  others; — by 
countenancing  the  addresses  of  a  thousand ;  —  or  that 
the  finest  assemblage  of  features,  the  greatest  taste  in 
dress,  the  genteelest  address,  or  the  most  brilliant  wit, 
cannot  eventually  secure  a  coquette  from  contempt 
and  ridicule. 

MANLY.  And  I  have  learned  that  probity,  virtue, 


THE  CONTRAST  115 

honour,  though  they  should  not  .have  received  the 
polish  of  Europe^  will  secure  to  an  honest  American 
the  good  graces  of  his  fair  countrywomen,  and  I  hope, 
the  applause  of  THE  PUBLIC. 


THE  END 


REVIVALS  OF  "THE  CONTRAST' 

By  pupils  of  the  American  Academy  of  Dramatic  Arts,  New 
York,  I894.1 

By  townsmen,  in  Brattleboro,  Vermont,  at  the  Brattleboro  Pag 
eant,  June  6,  7,  and  8,  1912.  Beautifully  and  correctly  performed, 
well  acted,  accorded  an  enthusiastic  reception. 

By  the  Play  and  Players  of  Philadelphia,  of  the  Drama  League  of 
America,  in  cooperation  with  the  University  of  Pennsylvania,  Janu 
ary  1 6  and  1 8,  1917.  Full  and  appreciative  audiences  found  the  old 
comedy  interesting.  The  newspaper  comments  were  favorable  as  to 
the  permanency  of  value  in  the  comedy. 

By  the  American  Drama  Committee  of  the  Drama  League  of  Amer 
ica,  New  York  Centre,  January  22  and  23,  1917,  the  conversation 
between  Jonathan  and  Jenny. 

By  the  Drama  League  of  Boston,  April  7,  1917.  Reproduced  as 
nearly  as  possible,  designs,  costumes,  and  staging  of  original  period. 
The  audience  responded,  as  of  yore,2  "  with  applause,"  and  the  news 
papers  published  long  critical  reviews,  finding  much  vitality  in  the 
play  —  as  well  as  many  demerits. 

1  Springfield  Republican,  March  18,  1894. 

2  From  criticisms  of  performances  of  The  Contrast:  Daily  Advertiser,  New  York,  April 
18,  1787  :  "   .  .   .  the  unceasing  plaudits  of  the  audience  '  ;   The  Maryland   Journal  and 
Baltimore  Advertiser,  November  16,  1787 :  "  .  .  .  with  reiterated  bursts  of  applause. " 


LIST  OF  WORKS  OF  ROYALL  TYLER 

THE  CONTRAST.  A  Comedy.  First  acted,  April  1 6,  1787.  Published 
by  Thomas  Wignell,  Philadelphia,  1790.  Reprinted  by  Dunlap 
Society,  New  York,  1887. 
MAY  DAY  IN  TOWN  ;  or,  NEW  YORK  IN  AN  UPROAR.    New  York, 

May  19,  1787. 

THE  ORIGIN  OF  EVIL.  An  Elegy.  1792.  "> 
ODE  TO  NIGHT.  1792.  ) 

In  original  manuscript,  owned  by  Helen  Tyler  Brown,  Brattle- 
boro,  Vermont. 
THE  DOCTOR  IN  SPITE  OF  HIMSELF.  A  Comedy.  Date  uncertain. 

FARM  HOUSE  ;  or,  THE  FEMALE  DUELLISTS.  A  Farce.   Boston, 
1796. 

THE  GEORGIA  SPEC  ;  or,  LAND  IN  THE  MOON.  A  Comedy,  ridicul 
ing  speculations  in  wild  Yazoo  lands.  Boston  and  New  York, 
1797-1798. 

Note  in  Columbian  Centinel,  Boston,  October  28,  1797: 
"The  Georgia  Spec,  or  Land  in  the  Moon,  a  Comedy  in  three 
acts,  is  said  by  judges  who  have  read  it  in  manuscript,  to  be  the  best 
production  that  has  flowed  from  the  ingenious  pen  of  R.  Tyler,  Esq. 
It  contains  a  rich  diversity  of  national  character  and  native  humour, 
scarcely  to  be  found  in  any  other  drama  in  the  language.  In  a  play, 
founded  on  incidents  at  home,  the  author  deserves  great  credit  for  the 
circumspect  candour,  with  which  he  has  avoided  every  species  of  per 
sonality. 

"The  characters  are  all  taken  from  general  life,  without  any  appro 
priate  reference  whatever.  Replete  with  incident,  enlivened  by  wit, 
and  amply  fraught  with  harmless  mirth,  the  Comedy  is  entitled  to  the 
applause  of  all  without  wounding  the  feelings  of  any." 
THE  ALGERINE  CAPTIVE  ;  or,  THE  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURES  OF  DOC 
TOR  UPDIKE  UNDERBILL  :  Six  YEARS  A  PRISONER  AMONG  THE 


, 


WORKS  OF  ROYALL  TYLER       119 

ALGERINES.  2  Vols.  Walpole,  New  Hampshire,  Davis  Carlisle, 
1797.  2  Vols.  in  i.  Hartford,  Connecticut,  Peter  B.  Gleason 
Co.,  1816.  2  Vols.  London,  England,  G.  and  J.  Robinson, 
Paternoster  Row,  1802. 

This  was  one  of  the  first  American  works  to  be  republished  in  Eng 
land,  and  completely  deceived  the  public,  being  considered  a  genuine 

narrative. 

MORAL  TALES  FOR  AMERICAN  YOUTH.  J.  Nancrede,  Boston,  1800. 

REPORTS  OF  CASES  IN  THE  SUPREME  COURT  OF  VERMONT.  2  Vols. 
1809-10. 

THE  YANKEY  IN  LONDON,  being  the  First  Part  of  a  Series  of  Letters 
Written  by  an  American  Youth,  during  nine  Months  Residence 
in  the  city  of  London;  Addressed  to  his  Friends  in  and  near  Bos 
ton,  Massachusetts.  Volume  I.  New  York,  1809. 

THE  SHOP  OF  MESSRS.  COLON  AND  SPONDEE.  (In  collaboration  with 
Joseph  Dennie. )  Political  squibs  and  comments  on  news  of  the 
day,  satirizing  fashionable  follies  and  manners.  The  Farmer's 
Weekly  Museum,  Walpole,  New  Hampshire,  1794-99.  Royall 
Tyler  was  "Spondee." 
This  was  a  popular  paper.  Its  circulation  was  extensive,  and  it  was 

in  Washington's  library  at  Mount  Vernon. 

ORATION  ON  THE  DEATH  OF  WASHINGTON.  1 800.  (Manuscript  copy 
extant. ) 

THE  MANTLE  OF  WASHINGTON.  An  Address  delivered  on  the  Anni 
versary  of  his  Birthday.  1800.  (Manuscript  copy  extant.) 

ODE  FOR  THE  FOURTH  OF  JULY.  1799. 

SeeDuyckinck's  Cyclopedia  of  American  Literature,  Vol.  I.  1855. 

The  Spirit  of  The  Farmer's  Museum  and  Lay  Preacher' s  Gazette, 
published  by  David  Carlisle,  Walpole,  New  Hampshire,  1801. 
A  collection  of  verse  and  prose  taken  from  the  files  of  The  Farm 
er's  Weekly  Museum.  Contained  many  specimens  of  Royall 
Tyler's  verse  and  prose;  also  Joseph  Dennie's  and  others'. 

Occasional  contributions  in  Joseph  Dennie's  periodical,  The  Portfolio, 
under  the  titles  of  AN  AUTHOR'S  EVENINGS  and  ORIGINAL  POETRY. 
Philadelphia,  1801-12. 


120       WORKS  OF  ROYALL  TYLER 

TRASH.  A  series  of  articles  inj.  T.  Buckingham's  Polyanthos.  Bos 
ton,  1806. 

LOVE  AND  LIBERTY  and  THE  CHESTNUT  TREE  have  been  called  his 
best  poems.  Dates  uncertain. 

For  "Love  and  Liberty"  see  Duyckinck's  Cyclopedia  of  Ameri 
can  Literature,  Vol.  I.  1855.  For  "The  Bookworm/'  taken 
from  the  manuscript  copy  of  "The  Chestnut  Tree,"  see  Library 
of  American  Literature,  Stedman  and  Hutchinson. 

Royall  Tyler  contributed  other  verse  and  prose  in  many  con 
temporary  periodicals  such  as  The  Federal  Orrery,  Boston  Colum 
bian  Centinel,  Boston  Eagle  or  Dartmouth  Centinel,  New  England 
Galaxy,  and  Vermont  newspapers.  A  complete  list  has  not  been  at 
tempted  . 

During  his  long  and  wasting  illness  he  wrote  constantly,  leaving 
unpublished  three  sacred  dramas,  "  The  Origin  of  the  Feast  of 
Purim,  or  The  Destinies  of  Haman  and  Mordecai,"  "Joseph  and 
His  Brethren,"  and  "  The  Judgment  of  Solomon";  a  comedy, 
"  Tantalization,  or  The  Governor  of  a  Day"  ;  poems,  "Fables 
for  Children"  and  "The  Bay  Boy,  A  Tale"  (unfinished).  He 
also  left  manuscript  notes  of  a  Comic  Grammar  and  an  Opera  and 
outlines  of  projected  works. 


TWO  HUNDRED  AND  SEVENTY-FIVE  COPIES  OF  THIS  BOOK,  OF 
WHICH  TWO  HUNDRED  AND  FIFTY  ARE  FOR  SALE,  WERE 
PRINTED  AT  THE  RIVERSIDE  PRESS  IN  CAMBRIDGE,  MASSA 
CHUSETTS. 


THIS  IS  NUMBER.... 


ptcssf 

CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
U    .    S    .    A 


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